
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Chap, _..._... Copyright No, _<__. 

' : " Shell.X.ll^'B^ 
: C-5T 

UNITED STATES o"F AMERICA, 



/ 



WILL SHAKESPEARE'S LITTLE LAD 



1 




The gay band entering the town from the west. 



WILL SHAKESPEARE'S 
LITTLE LAD 



BY / 

IMOGEN CLARK 



A gallant child, one that indeed . . . makes old hearts fresh 

"The Winter's Tale 



WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
REGINALD BIRCH 



NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
1897 



S 



.as- 



Copyright, 1897, by 
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 



/^-3/?>T/ 



TROW DIRECTORY 

PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY 

NEW YORK 






$0 

THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP OF 
SHAKESPEARE LOVERS 

THIS SIMPLE 

STORY OF HIS LITTLE LAD 

IS DEDICATED 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

The gay band entering the town from the 

West, Frontispiece > 

Facing 
page 

4 " Paint me a picture & it all," . . . .66 

"He thinks 'tis the fairies pinching him for his 

laziness," Judith whispered, 98 

And she, to humour him, fell to picking the 

strings of her instrument, .... 136 - 

"Art not well, sweet heart?" he demanded, . 186 

Hamnet caught the outstretched hand and pressed 

his face against it, 240 

Hamnet caught the raised arm in his hands 
and dragged it back with all his pitiful 
strength, 282 

" He just lietb there weak and smiling," . . 296 



WILL SHAKESPEARE'S LITTLE LAD 



CHAPTER I 

They rose up early to observe 
The rite of May. 

A Midsummer Night's Dream. 

THERE was an air of alertness about the little 
town of Stratford-on-Avon that May morn- 
ing in the year of grace 1596, and the thirty- 
eighth of the reign of good Queen Bess, though 
usually at such an early hour it was taking its 
last delicious doze, utterly unmindful of the world 
and its manifold duties. 

But who could really sleep the first of May, 
even if the sun had not yet risen ? Not the old 
people, surely, whose slumbers are light enough 
at any time and who, with all the mysterious 
noises of the previous night sounding in their 
ears, lived over again in a half-drowsy state the 
days when they, too, went a- May ing. Not the mid- 
dle-aged people, who had buckled on the armour 



2 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

of responsibility and had homes of their own to 
look after and children to care for, and so per- 
force must give up all those pleasing, foolish cus- 
toms, though the spring breeze called wooingly to 
them and the early flowers beckoned with alluring 
fingers. Not the young people — Ah, no ! There 
were no young people in Stratford, except the 
tiny, toddling things, and they were of small ac- 
count as yet. 

There was not a young person from ten to 
twenty years of age within the limits of the little 
town. The bells of Trinity had hardly ceased 
striking the midnight hour of the 30th of April, 
when shadowy figures of all sizes came from the 
houses lying in quiet lanes near the water-side, 
or in adjacent fields, and hastened to the market- 
place, the point of assembly, where the groups 
grew quickly. What laughter rang out upon the 
still, damp air — what shouts and songs! Tom 
Bardolph, the town-crier, jingled his bell from 
sheer joy, and called stridently to the stragglers 
whose forms could be seen from the steps of the 
Cross. The boys whistled and gave vent to their 
exuberant feelings in wild yells, while the older 
girls cried " Hush ! " warningly, with little ripples 
of excited giggles drowning the severity of their 
tones. The river, slipping slowly past under the 
arches of Sir Hugh's great bridge, seemed sud- 
denly to hold its breath in envy of all the delights 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 3 

the young folk were shortly to know in the si- 
lent woods where the flowers were already on tip- 
toe with expectancy. 

Who could sleep at such a time ? Who could 
sleep later, when, with the blowing of horns and 
the cry of the pipes that grew each moment faint 
and fainter, the band of young people left the 
town and hastened toward the shadowy forest ? 
And, above all, who could sleep in that sudden 
silence which, as it settled down, throbbed with 
memories of other times to the stay-at-homes, 
though the river went on with its drowsy lullaby 
among the sedges and there was no other sound 
abroad ? 

So it was small wonder that long before sunrise 
the good people were astir. They were as eager as 
children to see what manner of day it would be. 
The robin had sung blithely the previous after- 
noon, chirping forth cheery promises of sunshine 
and clear skies. That was a sign that never failed 
them ! But still the grey clouds lay close, guard- 
ing the secret of the morning, though already 
there was a thrill of colour in the east, where the 
dawn was knocking to be let out. 

After a short time that mysterious curtain 
stirred softly, and here, through an unguarded 
chink, and there through another, the young day 
peeped out at the world with a little golden light 
in her eyes, and then, grown bolder, she rent the 



4 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

enveloping folds asunder and leaped forth, all 
radiant, rosy smiles. 

The river, that had been a moving- thread of 
darkness but a moment before, flashed on a sud- 
den like a slender Spanish rapier drawn from its 
sheath ; the meadows along the banks grew dis- 
tinct; and the little, plaster-walled, thatch ed-roof 
cottages of the town, that had been so many dim, 
blurred shapes, stood out boldly, while here and 
there a small tuft of blue smoke rose from the 
chimneys of the thriftier householders and min- 
gled with the dissolving clouds, and under the 
wizard's touch the gardens, with their flowering 
hedges and their fruit-trees white with bloom, 
were revealed. 

The wooden spire of Trinity thrust its glitter- 
ing tip into the glowing sky. It was the first 
thing to catch the light of the coming sun, which 
burst suddenly, wide-awake, upon the scene. A 
white-throat in a near-by elm, as if he had been 
the only one watching for this radiance, lifted his 
voice in gladness, but his song was lost in the 
sounds that came from the woods. 

Hark ! a shrill, sweet cry — the call of the pipes, 
the lower notes of the tabour, and then a gay min- 
gling of men's and women's voices throbbing with 
the lilt of the tune, and, rising above them all, the 
high, childish trebles that carried the melody up — 
up into the blue. The distant sounds were borne 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 5 

townward by the rollicking little breeze which 
was soft and warm, and yet as wayward as a lad's 
will as it loitered along, dropping vague hints of 
all the wonderful doings out there. 

In a moment doors were flung wide and win- 
dows creaked under impatient hands. The key- 
note of the day was struck in that burst of music 
which the little breeze obligingly halted to chron- 
icle. It came nearer and nearer. Even the so- 
ber-minded Puritans, of whom there were not a 
few in Stratford town, felt a quickening of their 
pulse as the songs grew more distinct. They 
might maintain at other times that this Maying 
was an abomination — a godless sport, a pagan 
custom — and yet, with its sweet hurly-burly at 
their very doors, they could not but remember 
that their ancestors, nay, even some of them 
themselves, had gone forth in this same fashion to 
greet the May, returning, as these young people 
were doing, in the early morning with the treas- 
ures of the woods heaped high in their arms. 

Some such remembrance thrilled in their blood 
despite themselves, and the corners of their grim 
mouths relaxed a trifle, while some even went so 
far as to half-sing the words of the song over be- 
neath their breath. Only some of them, how- 
ever ; there were others who listened sourly, and, 
as they hurried out with the rest to meet the in- 
coming procession, their voices were raised in 



6 Will Shakespeare 's Little Lad 

loud denunciation and they threatened the danc- 
ers with lameness and broken legs, and saw no 
beauty whatever in the freshness of the day and 
the streets with their arches of flowers and vines. 

Little, however, did the gay band, entering the 
town from the west, heed this grumbling, any 
more than one would feel disturbed by the buz- 
zing of some discontented flies. The world was 
large enough to hold them all, and if these little 
black specks found fault with all the sweet bra- 
very of spring and had no welcome for her, why, 
so much the worse for them that their eyes were 
holden to the beauty and that these rites seemed 
impious in their sight. There be many like them 
in every age, who, taking no enjoyment in the 
simple, sweet pleasures, and, indeed, reading their 
own crooked meaning therein, would away with 
them all. As if God can only be praised by long 
prayers and fasting, and sour, smileless faces. As 
if one does not know that He hath made the 
flowers and the singing birds and the sunshine, 
and that joy in them all and love and good-will 
to our kind are the best services we can render! 

So, recking not of the adverse criticism about 
them, and seeing, indeed, only smiles upon the 
faces of the little crowd, the procession came 
proudly on, the men with the pipes and tabours 
leading the way, blowing and beating lustily. Back 
of them was a band of youths, their persons 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 7 

decked out with vines. Some of them had bound 
wreaths of flowers upon their brows, others had 
gay blossoms tucked in their caps, and all wore 
nosegays, large and small, slipped into their jer- 
kins. They rested their hands on one another's 
shoulders, and stretched out across the roadway 
in two wavering, brilliant lines, as they danced 
forward from side to side, singing ever as they 
came. Next in order a group of flower-crowned 
maidens, with summer in their faces and in their 
light, buoyant steps, made the air sweet with 
their merry music. Their arms were laden with 
fragrant branches and shy blossoms, which ever 
and anon they cast about them. 

And then, with the shouts of scampering, 
crowding children, came the chiefest jewel — that 
which they had all gone forth to seek and were 
bringing home with pride and veneration. The 
stay-at-home people pressed close to see, the men 
tossing their little ones up on their shoulders that 
they might have a better view. A yoke of oxen 
(good Master George Badger's old Sure and 
Steady ; they'd been away on this same errand to 
fetch the May-pole in a round dozen of years ; it 
was little marvel, then, that to them was given 
the first place in the drawing !) stepped slowly by, 
each conscious footfall full of majesty. Then fol- 
lowed another yoke, and still again a third, and 
so on until a half-score were numbered by the 



8 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

eager crowd. And what a transformation it was 
of the simple beasts — simple no longer, perdy ! 
but tricked out with floating streamers and vines 
and with sweet nosegays tied on the tips of their 
horns. They were like the beasts of Fairyland, 
or those wondrous creatures on the painted 
cloths that used to adorn the walls of Charlecote 
House, before the owners turned Puritans and 
had them burned for popish reminders. And back 
of the last oxen was the rude, low platform set 
on wheels — especially made for this purpose — on 
which the giant of the forest lay supinely, 
stripped of all its branches, its wounds bound up 
with great bunches of flowers and herbs, with 
garlands of vines, and a hundred different floating 
ends of ribbons and cloth of various hues stretch- 
ing from the top to the bottom. On either side of 
the cart walked a man holding in his hand a huge 
pronged stick, which, from time to time, he rested 
on the pole to keep it the better in its place ; or 
anon he would shake it at the children to main- 
tain some sort of order among them. 

The crowd cheered stoutly as the long pole 
moved serenely by. Then, with much good- 
humoured elbowing and pushing, the people 
joined the throng of vine-laden devotees who 
were bringing up the rear, and so on and on, 
amidst a jangle of questions and answers and 
bursts of song, the whole procession took its way, 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 9 

halting at last in Master Adrian Ford's meadow, 
near Cross Lane. 

A score of men ran forward and closed about 
the cart. It was the work of a conjurer ! In one 
moment the oxen were detached and led away ; 
in another, strong hands were touching that fall- 
en monarch with almost reverent tenderness. A 
boy, who had stood quietly by, now, at a sign 
from one of his elders, stepped proudly forward, 
and, kneeling upon the ground, bound at the very 
top of the pole the banner of England — the Red 
Cross of Saint George, then he moved back ; and 
the band of men closed in again. 

There was the sound of laughter and cries — 
quick commands — the place was cleared of peo- 
ple, then a tugging and straining went on among 
the men as the pole slipped into the hole pre- 
pared for it in the ground. It wavered uncer- 
tainly, as a ship will rock in the trough of the 
sea, but, after a brief moment's space, it stood 
firm and straight, a right brave, beautiful thing 
with all its flowers and ribbons. There was an 
instant of quiet, almost of suspense, among the 
watching folk, and then in a trice that same rol- 
licking little breeze which had already done such 
good service that morning, tugged, boy-like, at the 
end of the pennon, blowing at it mischievously, 
whereat it slipped away and, bellying out, flaunted 
its undaunted splendour in the sunshine. 



io Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

A sudden clapping of hands, like the crackling 
of a hungry fire, burst forth in greeting, and a 
great cheer sprang from the assembled people, a 
cheer that spread and spread even as the rings 
grow in the quiet waters at a stone's fall, until 
down in Old Town the chimes of Trinity answered 
merrily, and nearer the bell of the Holy Guild, 
in Chapel Lane, rang out right jovial peals of 
welcome. And high above the clamour of bells 
and fifes and tabours and the shrill blare of the 
trumpet came the cry as from one throat — the 
cry that so often had carried dismay and despair 
to England's foes in many a battle on sea and 
shore : 

" Saint George for England — Saint George for 
Merrie England ! " 



CHAPTER II 

All the world's a stage, 
And all the men and women merely players. 

As You Like It. 

More matter for a May morning. 

Twelfth Night. 

BEFORE the sun was three hours high Mas- 
ter Adrian Ford's meadow bore no slight- 
est resemblance to its usual tranquil aspect. 
On the softly rising knoll at its upper end stood 
the flag-tipped pole, with its ribbons and stream- 
ers fluttering in the morning air, as much at 
home in its new surroundings as if it had always 
been there and was, indeed, not a creature of a 
day but for all time. At its foot the ground 
was strewn with birch boughs and divers other 
branches, while here and there about the field, as 
if sprung up by magic, were leafy bowers and rude 
vine-trimmed booths, the latter erected by the 
tradesmen who, having a goodly eye for business, 
had left their stalls and shops in Middle Row and 
meant to take advantage that day of the country 
folk who would come from far and wide to join 

in the May sports and see the Morris danced. 

ii 



12 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

There was a daring rogue of a pedler already 
upon the ground, who scented the air with his 
upturned nose as he passed the merchants' wares, 
disdaining, in especial, the attractions of the 
baker's stall, where there was a store of sugar, 
biscuits, and caraways, with all kinds of sweet 
suckers and comfits, laid out to tempt the appetite, 
and whither, even thus early, the small boys were 
pushing and jostling as they eyed each coveted 
dainty with longing looks. At one side of the 
booth the smiling proprietor stood, crying in his 
thick, suety voice : 

" Walk up, roll up, tumble up, come up any way 
you can — here's cates to buy ! " 

The pedler gave the place a wide berth; he 
was getting in tune, too, for the day's work, and 
began to enumerate the contents of his pack 
with lungs which put the baker's vocal powers to 
shame : 

"Ribbons, gloves, Sheffield whittles, women's 
gear and rings wi' posies, ballads, shoe-ties, 
table-books — come buy o' me! Who'll buy — 
who'll buy?" 

He would keep it up all day and, at the end, he 
would go away with an empty pack and a full 
purse, for he was a merry-hearted wag with a 
tongue in his head that would draw kindness 
from a stone, one who, in truth, was well known 
in Stratford and all the country round at fairs 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 13 

and wakes and greatly liked by the women, the 
maids especially. No fear that he'd let Ned or 
Diccon slip by without getting a fairing from his 
wares, and oh ! the treasures he could disclose, 
and what an eye he had for a pretty face, and 
what a voice to sing you a song now ! 

Already, too, though it was far too early, the 
Morris dancers had gathered beneath the trees, 
taking their turn at a game of loggats. Robin 
Hood and Little John, in their tunics of Kendal 
green, with the bells about their ankles making a 
swift, keen music as they moved, had laid aside 
their bows as they matched their skill with the 
sticks, while the country bumpkins stood at a 
little distance gazing open-mouthed at the sport, 
or stealing furtive glances at Maid Marian, the 
Lady of the May, and marvelling among them- 
selves that, despite her golden crown and her long 
robes, she should play at penny-prick with Friar 
Tuck, and beat him at it, too. She was a pretty 
wench and fair to see in that wonderful yellow 
gown, though their elder sisters could have told 
them that 'twas only Dame Turpin's cast kirtle 
after all, and, if they looked closer, they would 
know that Maid Marian was but young Peter 
Turf, he that lived at Dancing Marston and had 
run away from home this two years back. 

The people came thronging in from all sides, 
and many of those who had been Maying in the 



14 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

earlier morning quitted the field now, hastening 
to their homes to refresh themselves with food 
and drink and to trim their own houses with the 
forest's spoils before returning for the sports r 
which would continue till the sun went down. 

Three children — two girls and a boy — de- 
tached themselves from the noisy group in front 
of the May-pole and hurried across the meadows 
and through the little, straggling lanes, their 
arms weighted with flowery branches. The 
girls, who were somewhat in advance, were 
dressed alike, in full kirtles of murrey-coloured 
homespun reaching almost to the ground, their 
jackets laced over white smocks. The short grey 
cloaks, which both of them wore, were pushed 
back over their shoulders, on account of the in- 
creasing warmth of the day and because 'twas 
the easiest fashion of carrying them. The oldest 
girl was about thirteen j^ears of age, while her 
companion was two years her junior. Both chil- 
dren had fair hair, the little one's escaping be- 
neath her white coif in wayward, wind-tossed 
ringlets the colour of corn-silk, while her eyes 
gleamed from out the soft tangle as blue as the 
speedwell she carried in her warm little fist. 
She had a gentle, confiding way about her. 

" V faith, Sue," she said, half smothering a sigh, 
" I wish I might borrow me yon bird's wings, for 
I be forewearied and can go no faster than this 



Will Shakespeare 's Little Lad 15 

snail's pace, and I would be at home with a bowl 
full o' porridge before me." 

" I warrant thee it wouldn't stay full long," the 
other laughed ; " there's naught like being out in 
the woods for hours to make a person hungry. 
But see Hamnet now, what a laggard he is ! 
One would think he'd never a thought o' porridge 
or o' aught else save the sky and his dreamings, 
and yet, once we're set down, he'll eat more than 
the two o' us. 'Tis ever thus with men and boys; 
my Grandam Hathaway saith they have tremen- 
dous appetites " 

" Good Mistress Sadler told me 'tis because a 
man must feed his brains and muscles, and a girl, 
now, she hath only her body to care for." 

" Marry and amen ! I be glad Mistress Sadler 
is no godmother o' mine. Have we not brains as 
well ? I think there is no question o' a boy's brains 
when there's food set before him. He eats so 
much for that he's greedier than we are, and that's 
the truth. Feed his brains, forsooth ! Believe 
no such foolishness, Judith sweet. My father's 
brains are better than good Master Sadler's, and 
he hath more o' them too, but he's no such big 
eater as Master Sadler is. Dost remember last 
Michaelmas, when father was here and the Sad- 
lers came to dinner ? I warrant thee, father ate 
not so much o' the goose as Hamnet's godfather 
did, and he'd more excuse, with all his brains to 



1 6 Will Shakespeare' s Little Lad 

feed. Nay, nay, that's foolish gossips' talk, 
though I be but a child — and a girl into the bar- 
gain — to say it." 

" I care not for my part, Sue, why a boy should 
eat more, so that I always have enow. I know 
one thing though ; an we were starving now and 
there was but a crust o' bread between us three, 
Hamnet would give up his share to us, though 
his muscles and brains cried out for the feed- 
ing." 

" Ay, that he would, and though we would pro- 
test, yet would he find some good reason to make 
us do his will. And I marvel why that should 
be." 

" Methinks any man would do the same. Even 
Master Sadler, though he be overfond o' eat- 
ing, would give up all for my dear godmother's 
sake." 

" I cannot say. He might do so an Mistress 
Sadler were in sore need ; but every day, I think 
not — I think not. He'd as lief she had the wing 
o' the goose, so that he still got the major por- 
tion." 

" Nay, Susanna, what would our father say?" 

" Our father would say — troth ! I know not. 
But methinks, though he might chide me for 
letting my tongue wag thus, he would smile in 
that way o' his that robs his words o' any sting, 
and mayhap he would make a little note in that 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad ij 

great mind o' his o' good Master Sadler's excel- 
lence and his mighty fondness for eating and sack, 
and see how he could turn it into his writings 
some day." 

" Doth he always so ? I shall be afeard to speak 
or sing when he is by." 

" There is naught to fear ; he looks on only in 
kindness ; he is so gentle for all he is so strong 
and tall, and knoweth so much. But he is ever 
learning and everything teacheth him — the birds 
and the flowers, and the way the trees blow in 
the wind, and — everything. Why, even you and 
me are not too small. That is how his brain is 
fed, in that manner and with reading, and not 
with stupid goose and gravy, but " 

" There's mother now," Judith interrupted, 
" and grandam too ; they're watching for us. 
Methinks my Grandmother Shakespeare hath the 
sweetest face in all the world. I'll race thee to 
the house, Sue, and beat thee, else thou may'st 
have my new handkercher, the one set about wi' 
Coventry blue." 

" Keep thy handkercher," a scornful voice ex- 
claimed, near them ; " girls don't know how to 
run." 

" Fie ! fie ! " the sisters cried in a breath, their 
words unheeded by the slim figure darting past. 
Judith put out a detaining hand, but she only 
grasped a bit of branch from the store the boy 



1 8 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

carried, and even that would not stay with her ; it 
flew back with a snap, leaving a few, half-opened 
buds in her fingers. The next moment she started 
in pursuit of her brother, and Susanna, after a 
short struggle with her dignity — she was grow- 
ing tall and had put away many childish things 
— joined also in the race. The disdainful gibe 
was like a lash to spur her on, but despite her 
fleetness she was no match for those flying feet 
that seemed to spurn all obstacles in the way, 
though she easily outdistanced Judith. It was a 
foregone conclusion that the boy should win. 

" Give ye good-day," he cried as he reached 
the two women who had been interested onlook- 
ers of the race. " Saw ye ever such beautiful 
blooms? I knew just where to find them — I've 
been watching for weeks, and I showed the girls. 
Oh ! we've had rare sport. I warrant ye there 
was never such a Maying before." He broke off 
as his sister came panting up, with a little nod of 
satisfaction. 

"Said I not true, Judith ?" he asked slyly. 

"About what?" 

" About running — girls can't run." 

" 'Twas not a fair race, was it, sweet Mother ? 
He'd a goodish start, and besides he frighted us 
as he ran by." 

" I outran thee once in Shottery Lane," Susanna 
cried, triumphantly. 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 19 

" Thou'lt never forget that," Ham net laughed ; 
" 'twas ages agone. Let's try again, fair and 
square — thou couldst not beat me to-day." 

" Nay, I could not do it to-day, forsooth, be- 
cause — because there are the May sports to see." 

" To-morrow, then ? " 

" To-morrow will be a busy day, will it not, 
dear Mother? I could beat him to-morrow, were 
it not that there's baking to do ; and then there's 
father's cloak to unpick, that it may be made over 
into a doublet for thee, Master Hamnet." 

"The next day?" 

" The next day Susanna might easily outrun 
thee, sirrah," interposed the elder Mistress Shake- 
speare, with a laugh, " were it not that she hath 
promised to help me with my knitting. One 
victory will have to content her." 

" Ay, that it will," the boy returned, good- 
humouredly, " for 'tis the only one she'll ever get, 
as ye all know, though your words be so brave. 
Harp away, Sue, about that time ; I give thee 
leave. Thou'lt still be talking o' it when thou art 
old and grey." 

" Thou'rt late in coming home ; we looked for 
thee an hour agone." 

" We could come no sooner, Mother sweet, 
there was so much to do and see." 

" But the pole hath been up this long while 
now." 



20 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

" Ay, in sooth it hath ; and who dost think 
placed the banner at its very top? Nay, then, 
thou'lt never guess. 'Twas me — me — me ! I knew 
thou wouldst be mazed, and my sweet grandam 
too ; but this is how it happed. It fell this year 
by lot to Thomas Getley to put the flag in place, 
and 'tis the third time running that he hath had 
the office, and he careth not overmuch for the 
honour, save that 'tis kept from the other men. 
When we were in the woods this morn and the 
pole had been fixed fair with ribbons, I heard him 
talking with his mates and giving himself airs 
like the London gallants that come sometimes to 
Clopton House. And, saith he, with a shrug, like 
this, 'twas not such a fine thing to do as they 
thought, and for his part he'd as lief any boy 
would have the chance. Why then, Gran, I 
walked straight up to him and said I'd take him 
at his word. At that they all laughed, but I 
would not budge, though the cries sent little hot 
pricks into my skin, and he was mightily flus- 
tered. 

« < Why dost thou want to do this thing ? ' he 
asked, speaking out right boldly ; ' no boy hath 
ever set the flag.' 

" Then I answered him in few words : 

" * And that is why I want to do it.' 

" At which he laughed, too, and saith he : 

" ' Perhaps thou hast another and a better rea- 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 21 

son to serve thee, sith methinks 'twould never do 
to overthrow old customs just for a lad's desire/ 

" ' Ay, that I have,' I cried, ' and the best o' 
reasons, too. 'Tis the Cross o' Saint George I 
want to raise, and it meaneth more to me than it 
can to thee, for my father was born on Saint 
George's day.' 

" Then he peered at me close. 

" ' Why/ quoth he, ' 'tis Will Shakespeare's little 
lad. Nay then, thou shalt have my place, for his 
sake and thine own. What say ye, friends, shall 
we not let the old custom slip ? ' 

" And all the men shouted ' Ay ! ' right lustily, 
and one o' them set this wreath upon my head. 
And Mother — Gran — when we were come to Mas- 
ter Ford's field my heart was going as loud as old 
Pimpernel's tabour, and my hands shook. I was 
afeard I might not bind the banner safe and 
there'd be some mishap, and then sore coil for 
Thomas Getley and the others. But when I 
stepped out at the sign they made me I wasn't 
affrighted in the least. I knelt and tied it, knots 
and double knots — 'twill only come down when 
the pole doth — and then, still kneeling, I bent my 
head and kissed its folds softly. ' Fly wide, little 
kiss,' I whispered ; * fly as far as London town ; the 
breeze will bear thee safe to father.' " 

" Thou art a pretty phrasemonger, in sooth," 
his mother interrupted, with a fond laugh, " and 



22 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

full o' conceits too. 'Tis a good thing, verily, to 
remember thy father. I doubt not he'll be think- 
ing o' us all this day and wishing he was here." 

" ' A branch of May I bring to you, 
Before your door it stands ' "— 

sang Judith in her shrill, sweet voice as she 
danced to and fro with her pretty skipping steps 
and low courtesies. 

The others stopped in their light talk to watch 
the figure of the little maid darting up and down 
the soft, green sward. Susanna and her mother 
stood together at one side. They were very like. 
The woman had only to glance at the girl's fair 
face to recall 'the lovely April of her prime/ 
though the rose was still faintly glowing in her 
own cheeks, and her fading hair, in the bright 
sunlight, took on some of its old-time sheen. 
Hamnet was near his grandmother, as was ever 
the way when the two were of the same com- 
pany. By a power stronger than that the mag- 
net wields they were always drawn close to each 
other. Her arm was thrown fondly about his 
shoulder, and his head, with its curling auburn 
hair, was cast back against the spotless kerchief 
that was folded across her bosom. His frank face, 
with the dreamy hazel eyes set wide apart, was 
turned in admiration toward his twin, the soft, 
delicate cheeks curved into laughing lines. 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 23 

" Brava ! Judith," he cried. " Though I beat thee 
at running, thou canst give me points in dancing. 
I can stamp a Trenchmore as good as the next 
one, but when it comes to such twistings and 
turnings I cut but a sorry figure. Thou'rt lighter 
than thistledown, and there'll be no better danc- 
ing done this day, I trow. But leave off now, for 
I be starving. Wait, Mother dear ; let me fix that 
bit o' thorn above the door, to keep the witches 
out. So ! " 

" That's a good lad ! Now, go you in, children, 
and get your porridge — 'tis set on the dresser. 
We are losing day ; it wastes toward noon, and 
there's naught done. Leave your grandmother 
and me to dress the house." 

The children ran within doors with merry 
shouts, and the two women looked at each other 
smilingly. They needed no speech, for each could 
read the other's heart as 'twere an open book. 
Then they fell to work, still in silence, sorting out 
the long vines and twisting them about the 
supports of the pent -house. They put great 
branches of May upon the ledges of the windows 
and bound them by the door, stepping off at a lit- 
tle distance the better to judge of the effect, as 
Richard Sponer of Chapel Lane, the painter, 
studieth his work. 

They made a comely picture working together 
in the fresh spring sunshine. The sweet -faced 



24 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

elderly woman, with the silvery hair showing be- 
neath the border of her coif, touched the flowers 
tenderly, as though they were a part of her own 
youth. She stepped a little slower than did her 
companion, and her tall, slender figure was some- 
what bowed, but she bore herself with a dauntless 
mien. The other woman was not quite so tall ; 
she moved with quick, brisk motions, and as she 
wound the blossoms deftly into sweet- smelling 
nosegays, she sang in a low, vibrant voice the 
words of little Judith's song : 

" * A branch of May I bring to you, 
Before your door it stands.' " 



CHAPTER III 

My crown is in my heart, not on my head ; 
Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones, 
Nor to be seen ; my crown is call'd Content. 

Henry VI. 

Spirits are not finely touch'd 

But to fine issues. 

Measure for Measure. 

WHEN Master William Shakespeare went 
up to London to seek his fortune he 
left his wife and their little ones in 
his father's home in Henley Street. At that 
time his father and mother, with three of their 
children — Joan, a merry -eyed lass of sixteen, 
Richard, and Edmund — the latter a small lad of 
five years — were living in the old house. Gil- 
bert, the son next in age to William, was away 
in Snitterfield, at his Uncle Henry's farm, whither 
Richard followed him a couple of years later. 

There was a warm welcome ready for the little 
family from those good, true hearts, and the pass- 
ing years only made the ties of affection stronger. 
It was very pleasant for the elder Mistress Shake- 
speare to have the continual companionship of her 

25 



26 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

daughter-in-law, Anne. There was something so 
lovable about the creature that none could resist 
her. She had a way of slipping into a body's heart 
willy-nilly, and taking up her home there. Her 
low voice and gay laughter were goodly sounds 
to hear, while her fondness for her children was 
the touchingest thing in the world. The two 
women, though they were each a trifle jealous of 
the other, as is often the case with very worthy 
women, were drawn closely together by their love 
for the little ones. 

Master John Shakespeare, worried and worn 
with the sad stress into which his affairs had 
fallen, had lost much of the jovial cheer which had 
been so marked a characteristic of his in earlier 
life. He had grown silent, too — he who had al- 
ways been so ready with his lively sallies ! — and 
the wish to keep from his fellows was one that in- 
creased daily. His was a nature to thrive only in 
the sunshine ; the storms and shadows of life left 
him sore distressed, hopeless, despairing. He 
was like a wounded animal seeking the silences 
to nurse his hurt, and looking thence suspi- 
ciously at the world. The turn fortune had taken 
had embittered him sadly, and he no longer went 
abroad to mingle in the merrymakings of his 
towns-people, so that the coming of the children 
was as if a door had been opened suddenly upon 
a pleasant place radiant with love and cheer. 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 27 

It was midsummer when the young family came. 
Susanna was then a little more than two years old, 
and the twins a matter of five or six months. 
From the first the heart of the grandmother, 
which was always open to children, and indeed 
to all her kind, warmed especially to the little 
boy. His resemblance to his father, even at that 
early age, was very marked, and the woman, as 
she crooned over the baby in her arms, seemed to 
be living over the time when her first-born son 
had lain upon her breast and she had sung the 
same simple words to him : 

" « Lully, lulla by, littell tyne child, 

By, by, lullay, lullay by, littlle tyne child, 
By, by, lully, lully.' " 

Sometimes the bright eyes would close almost 
at the first line, and then the sweet voice would 
cease and the grandmother would fall a-dreaming 
too, only with open eyes, of that other little one 
who had grown to man's estate and who was far 
away amid the din and distractions of a strange 
city. But the same confident smile would linger 
on her placid lips. She knew the heart of the 
man ; it was as simple and gentle as the child's 
had been, and she had no fear that he would fall a 
prey to ill-doing. She had such absolute trust 
in him, though she missed him sorely and would 
fain, for her own sake and the sakes of those 



28 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

about her, wish that he were home again with 
them all. 

At other times, if Baby Hamnetwere not mind- 
ed to sleep, she must needs talk to him in that 
foolish fashion women have — lopping off their 
words and twisting them into strange shapes, as 
if by so doing the small mind can understand a 
person the easier. Or, if he ought to go to 
Dreamland, then would she sing that other old 
song, about that Babe whose mother's heart was 
filled with grievous dismay in the lowly stable in 
the far-away Eastern land : 

" * Lulla, la lulla, lulla, lulla bye, 

My swete littell babe what meanest thou to cry ? 
Bee still my blessed babe, though cause thou hast to mourne, 
Whose blood most innocent the cruel king hath sworne. 
And lo ! alas, behold ! what slaughter he doth make, 
Shedding the blood of infants all, swete Saviour for thy sake. 
A king is borne they say, which king that king would kill. 
Oh ! woe and woeful heavie day when wretches have their 
will.' " 

So would Mistress Shakespeare sing the carol 
to the end, softly and tenderly, and when the little 
one had gone to Slumberland she would lay him 
in the cradle by his sister's side and fall to watch- 
ing the two sleep-flushed faces. And often her 
daughter-in-law would cry, half in jest, half in 
earnest : 

" Nay then, my Mother, thou'rt all for Hamnet 



Will Shakespeare's Liltle Lad 29 

and hast no eyes for my sweet bird, Judith ; and 
as for Susanna, thou givest the child no word. I 
do protest, la, 'tis not right ; hereafter I will keep 
the little lad myself and thou mayest sing Judith 
to sleep." 

Then the elder woman would laugh in her turn 
and say : 

" I fear not thy threats, sweetheart, and right 
willingly will I sing to Judith. In truth I love 
her and my little Susanna too ; only — only — the 
boy cometh first because o' his father's sake. 
Thou'lt humour an old woman, lass? " 

And for answer Anne Shakespeare would kiss 
the sweet questioning face, and if Hamnet were 
awake she would push him crowing into his 
grandmother's arms and play hy-spy with him 
over her shoulder, whereat Susanna would join 
in the sport with her shrill screams and Judith 
would coo gayly from the cradle. Truly, they 
were very happy together. 

So the months slipped by, and season after 
season passed uneventfully and quietly to the 
household in Henley Street. It seemed but yes- 
terday to Mistress Mary Shakespeare that Susan- 
na, on the time of her first coming there, had 
stood in the door-way, while her father had cut a 
tiny notch in the wood above her sunny head to 
mark her height and had put a little ' S ' along- 
side. The mother, Anne, had sat by, looking on 



30 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

with laughing eyes the while she danced Baby 
Judith in the air and she herself held Hamnet ; 
and when his father turned to him and said : 
" Thou'rt too small to be measured, manikin," she 
had cried out : " Not so, William, not so ; he is 
as high as my heart." Whereat they had all 
laughed at her quick protest. And now her 
words had come true in very deed. 

The years had brought still other changes to 
Henley Street. Master John Shakespeare walked 
a little slower, and the habit of silence had grown 
more surely upon him, though with his son's in- 
creasing success in London his own fortune 
was rapidly mending. A look of content had 
gradually settled upon his wrinkled face, dispell- 
ing the harassed expression which had so long 
disfigured it, and he held his head with something 
of the confidence he had shown in the days of his 
own public capacity. 

The same gentle trust was written on Mistress 
Mary Shakespeare's features ; the same unflinch- 
ing bravery of mien and cheeriness of word that 
had never failed her even in the darkest hours 
were still apparent in her deportment and speech. 
She was always one to help others ; her heart 
was as guileless and warm as a child's and as 
ready to go forth in love. It was a heart that 
knew no age. If there was a little more pride in 
her bearing than in the old times, was not that 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 31 

justifiable, when away in London town her son 
was becoming famous ? 

Already there had come word of the plays and 
poems he had made. Had not Richard Field, 
himself a Stratford man, printed ' Venus and 
Adonis * and that sadder, graver story of poor 
Lucrece? Had not all London town talked of 
them ? Had not the young Earl of Southampton 
been glad to be the friend and patron of such a 
man of genius as sweet Master William Shake- 
speare ? And he had made substantial proof, ay ! 
that he had, of his friendship and love. 

Suppose William were silent about his work ? 
It was always his way to give no praise to him- 
self. But good Master Field let the folk of Strat- 
ford know the high esteem in which the poems 
were held by people of quality and learning. 
And those plays that crowded the theatre during 
the season — what magician's hand had called them 
into being? Was it possible — was it possible — 
how the mother's heart grew tremulous with de- 
light ! — that it was the same hand that, in the long 
ago, had clung to her gown and had patted her 
face so lovingly ? 

What a brave showing the mere titles made ! 
* Harry the Sixt' — or truly all that was best in it! 
— ' the pleasant, conceited historie of The Taming 
of a Shrew/ i Errors/ ' Love's Labour's Lost/ 
' The Gentlemen of Verona,' ' Richard the 



2,2 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

Third/ 'A Midsummer Night's Dream,' 'The 
Venetian Comedy ' — and there were more to come. 
Why, he said he had just begun, and he loved his 
work. He was going to write a play about a 
pair of hapless lovers — he had told her that much 
already — and he would weave therein a bit of poor 
Mistress Charlotte Clopton's story — she that had 
died a fearful death the year of the great plague 
in Stratford town — God rest her soul! And, 
after that, there would be more and more. The 
wonder and the glory of it! Surely a woman 
had a right to be proud of a son like that ; but, 
deep in her heart, she knew that, beyond all his 
genius, the real reason of her pride in him was 
because of his love for her and his tenderness 
and help to them all. What did they not owe 
him? 

The family in Henley Street had grown smaller 
with the flight of years. Of the other sons, 
Edmund was the only one at home — a tall strip- 
ling, with his heart already turned Londonward. 
But Gilbert and Richard, both of them men now 
and able to go whither they would, were bothered 
by no such dreams. They were content with the 
tranquil life of the near-by hamlets, where they 
followed their simple pursuits and found their 
diversions in sheep-shearing festivals, wakes, and 
harvest-tide, the annual fairs at Stratford, the 
entertainments connected with Christmas, New 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad ^ 

Year's, and Easter, the May-day sports, the de- 
lights of Whitsuntide, the beating of the bounds 
during Rogation week, and the occasional repre- 
sentation of stage-plays at the Guildhall of their 
own native town or in Coventry, only a short 
distance away. These home-keeping youths had 
much to amuse them without going far a-field. 

Pretty Mistress Joan Shakespeare was no longer 
ananmate of her father's house ; she had exchanged 
her early home for one of her own in Scholar's 
Lane, which Master William Hart had provided 
for his bride. The wedding had occurred the 
previous August, when the twins were ten 
years old, and it had been an occasion of great 
rejoicing. Hamnet and his sisters had rifled the 
woods and lanes the day before, of flowers and 
vines, and had helped the young maids deck the 
rooms of both houses — the old home and the 
new — with the sweet-smelling treasures ; they had 
run hither and thither on errands, as fleet of foot 
as the deer in the heart of Arden, and had even 
penetrated into the kitchen, there to receive fre- 
quent rewards for their good behaviour. And on 
the auspicious day itself, with the bride-favours 
floating from their shoulders, they had borne 
themselves right bravely in their different parts. 

Susanna and Judith, with the other brides- 
maids, had gone early to Master William Hart's 
house, presenting him with a branch of gilded 

3 



34 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

rosemary bound with ribbons, and then had led 
him forth to the church along the rush-strewn, 
flower -bedecked way, while Hamnet, with the 
bridegroom^ men, had conducted the bride 
thither, Hamnet walking nearest to her, because 
she would have it so. In sooth, she made a win- 
some bride, with the chaplet of flowers on her 
bright brown hair, which waved to her waist, her 
fair face looking forth from the filmy veil which be- 
came her vastly ! In her hand she bore a branch 
of rosemary that had been previously dipped in 
sweet-scented water, and her little nephew at 
her side waved his gilded branch gently to and 
fro. Just in front of them strode a youth who 
carried the bride-cup, which was filled with wine 
and decorated with vines and ribbons, and back 
of them were the musicians playing ever softly. 

So they passed along the road, coming at last 
to Trinity Church, where the doors stood wide 
and the wedding -chorus greeted their ears. 
Good Sir Richard Bifield was waiting at the 
chancel steps, and thither the bridal party walked 
up the nave, where the wedding- guests were 
grouped on either side, the women pressing for- 
ward to see the bride as she passed, and all of 
them waving their sweet-scented branches of 
gilded rosemary and bay until the air was heavy 
with perfume. 

When they paused and the vicar had stepped 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 35 

forward, Hamnet, from his place next the groom 
— for the maidens were standing now with the 
bride — stole furtive glances about him, and mar- 
velled much why, when it all was so joyous and 
beautiful, his Grandam Shakespeare should look 
so sad. His sight was keen enough to discover 
the tears in her eyes, and he wanted to comfort 
her, though why she should need comfort at such 
a time he knew not. 

" 'Tis because women are not men," the little 
lad mused, " that they act thus. Methinks they're 
ever like the sky in April, one moment tears and 
the next all smiles — sad and happy in a breath. 
There's my Aunt Joan — 'twas only this morning, 
when my grandam kissed her, that she fell a-weep- 
ing, and now how gay she looks, as if she never 
would shed a tear again. 'Tis passing strange. 
I must ask father " 

He broke off in his reflections as the singing 
burst forth again, and the newly wedded couple, 
after the bride-cup had been called for and the 
customary kiss given, turned from the altar. 
Mistress Hart stopped for a moment, on her way 
down the nave, by her mother, and Hamnet, 
looking on, saw tears not only in his grand- 
mother's eyes, but in his aunt's also, as the two 
women embraced each other fondly, and the 
elder said " God bless thee ! " while the younger 
murmured " Amen." 



36 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

" Tis marvellous strange," the boy thought 
" Of a truth I must ask father." 

But there was no chance then to seek the 
desired information, with the people pressing out 
after the bride and sweeping everyone along. 
That was surely no time to pause and wonder at 
the ways of women-folk. What a clatter there 
was ! As if the few minutes of enforced silence 
had but served to oil their tongues the better, and 
everyone must make up for that bit of quietness. 
There was more noise abroad than ever came 
from the new mill-wheel just beyond the church 
at the foot of Mill Lane. The laughing, chatter- 
ing guests surged through the open doors and 
formed into a procession ; then they started on 
the homeward way. 

Master and Mistress Hart led the happy com- 
pany ; then came Master John Shakespeare and 
Mistress Mary, his wife, followed by Master 
William Shakespeare — come on purpose from 
London town to be at his sister's wedding — 
walking with Mistress Anne, his wife, who was 
clad in a brand-new gown as fine as any Court 
lady would wish to wear, with the ruff about her 
throat set and coloured with yellow starch, and 
upon her head a little cap of silver tissue — a gift 
from her husband — which did augment the soft 
fairness of her hair right wondrously, while upon 
her breast she wore the blue bride-laces which, 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad $7 

with the favours, were always presented to the 
guests on such occasions. 

Back of them trooped the relatives and friends. 
Old Mistress Hathaway, with her son Tom, the 
Henry Shakespeares from Snitterfield, the John 
Shakespeares from Bridge Street, the Shake- 
speares from Rowington Hall, the Etkyns, Cor- 
nells, Webbs, Lamberts, and Greenes ; the Cloptons 
and Combes, graciously friendly, Henry Walker 
— he that would be alderman some day — hob- 
nobbing with the Master Bailiff, the Vicar of 
Trinity arm-in-arm with the master of the Gram- 
mar School — Sir John Colton — both deep in some 
learned disputation, and turning ever and anon 
for support in their argument to Sir Thomas 
Hunt, of Luddington, who was walking just 
behind them. Then came Hercules Underhill 
and his good wife ; Walter Roche and his ; Julius 
Shawe, gay and smiling, though everyone knew 
he was wearing the willow for sweet Mistress 
Hart's sake ; the Rogerses, the Sadlers, and many 
others, old and young ; while the children ran on 
before, or danced along by the sides of their 
elders, singing and shouting merrily. 

And then, almost before they realized it, they 
had reached their destination, and right in front 
of them stood the Shakespeares' home, its win- 
dows dressed with flowers, and its garden, which 
swept from the back around the two sides, green 



38 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

and sweet beneath the glowing sun. There were 
birds twittering in the trim hedge along the 
street and calling out to their brother-songsters 
in Nicholas Lane's garden to come and see the 
happy doings. 

Fast upon the home - coming followed the 
bride - ale and the games and dances. There 
was nothing but jollity — not a thought or a sus- 
picion of a tear ! Hamnet and the other chil- 
dren strayed about the house at first ; then, wan- 
dering off to the adjacent fields, they played at 
hoodman - blind, tag, and barley-break, their 
shouts filling the air with a blithe hubbub. He 
quite forgot his reflections of the earlier day, but 
they returned in full force when the time for 
parting came. 

There were tears then in plenty ; tears in 
Grandam Shakespeare's eyes, though her lips 
were curved into brave smiles ; tears in his moth- 
er's eyes, though why she should weep he could 
not tell, when only the moment before she had 
been laughing with her gossip, Mistress Sadler. 
Tears, tears, tears in the little bride's eyes, so 
many that they brimmed over and rolled down 
her cheeks. Grandfather Shakespeare looked as 
if he had a sorry pose. Hamnet glanced quickly 
at his father, whose kind, hazel eyes were bent 
upon the bride's face ; they were very soft and 
tender and — Hamnet could not say. 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 39 

It was very strange ! He could not see over- 
well himself, and when Aunt Joan stooped and 
whispered " Good-by, sweet ! " he felt a queer 
lump rise in his throat. He threw his arms 
around her, and clung to her as she kissed him. 
Then he watched her, still surrounded by the 
bridesmaids and bridesmen, go away hand-in- 
hand with her husband across the fields to the 
new home, and somehow — he couldn't see very 
far. And yet it was a clear evening with 
such a soft, peaceful after-glow flooding the sky, 
or he had thought so — but now a mist was ris- 
ing ! 

He would ask father. He turned with the 
question on his lips, but his father had gone with 
some friends to pass the evening at the Swan and 
would not be back until long after Hamnet's bed- 
time. The little lad stifled a sigh ; there was no 
use asking the women-folk or grandfather. The 
house seemed strangely quiet after the gayety, 
and all the flowers were drooping and dying. 
The very air was full of sadness, and yet for all 
that grandmother had looked so sorrowful, she 
and his mother were talking blithely of the do- 
ings of the day, and what this one had worn and 
what the other, and what had been said. Su- 
sanna and Judith were whispering on the settle ; 
he could catch a word now and again — ' kirtle,' 
* fernstitch,' ' bonelace/ ' my mammet.' How 



4-0 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

girls talked, as if a boy ever cared to listen! 
Now, if Tom Combe and Francis Collyns were 
only present, there would be something worth 
hearing. There would be talk of the Armada — 
one never tired of that desperate sea-fight ; or the 
war in Flanders, look you ! or the famous en- 
counter between Sir Guy and Colbrand. And if 
by any chance those subjects palled, there was 
that game of prisoners' base the big boys played 
Saturday sen'night in the field near the Bank- 
croft. He patted his big hound, Silver. 

" Thou understandest anyway," he whispered ; 
" and when father cometh back we'll ask him." 

In the soft dawn of the next morning, the 
whole household was astir. Master William 
Shakespeare was going to London, and must be 
away by the sun's uprising. After Susanna and 
Judith had spread the table and the elders had 
seated themselves, Hamnet, as was his wont, stood 
at one side and repeated his grace. That fin- 
ished, he made a low courtesy, and said " Much 
good may it do you ! " and forthwith put the 
breakfast upon the table, waiting so carefully and 
attentively upon his elders that the simple meal 
of eggs and bread and milk, with crisp lettuce 
from the garden, was soon over. At its end, after 
he had carried away the empty platters and 
brushed the crumbs into a ' voider,' Susanna and 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 41 

he removed the cloth, folding it carefully, and 
then they brought a clean towel and a basin and 
ewer for washing the hands. 

With all that to do, there was no chance to ask 
questions, though the boy could feel them surg- 
ing within him. There were so many last words 
to be said by everyone that his fancies must 
need wait. He stood quietly by, suppressing his 
disappointment bravely, but his father, with that 
wonderful way he had of reading another per- 
son's thoughts, looked at the wistful little face 
and understood that something was troubling the 
small mind. Yet he gave no sign. He kissed 
them all farewell; then he mounted the roan 
champing at the door, and, turning in his saddle, 
he held out his hand. 

" Spring up behind me, little lad," he cried ; 
" and, Sir Silver, stretch thy legs ; we'll go a bit 
toward London together." 

" An I might only go all the way," Hamnet 
whispered, as he clung to the strong figure, and 
the horse bounded forward through the quiet 
street. 

" Would'st leave them all for me ? " 

Hamnet glanced at the small group under the 
pent-house ; at the old man in his dressing-gown, 
with his 'broidered night-cap on his straggling, 
white hair ; at the two women side by side, with 
their sad faces that were yet smiling, oh, so 



42 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

valiantly ; at the little girls waving their hands. 
He tightened his hold. 

" Yea," he answered, with a quick - drawn 
breath. 

"And Silver?" 

" He's going, too." 

Will Shakespeare laughed. 

" Thou hast a ready wit ; but wait, my little 
lad ; the years fly quickly. When thou'rt older, 
thou shalt be with me " 

" All day, and every day ? " 

" An thou wilt." 

" 'Tis so long till then ; I would the time were 
now. Methinks the years will be monstrous slow 
in passing." 

" Nay, nay, they will go fast enough, and there 
is much thou wilt have to do. Thou must grow 
wise and good, and be merry and gentle withal." 

" And what age must I be ? " 

" I wot not. After the grammar school here, 
there will be study at Oxford, and then " 

" London and father ! " 

" Not so fast, not so fast. London an thou 
wilt, but methinks by that time thy father will be 
back here in Stratford town in some home of his 
own. What sayest thou to the ' Great House/ if 
Fortune smiles? But breathe no word of this; 
thou'rt like my second self, and so I speak to 
thee." 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 43 

Hamnet pressed his arms closer and the man 
went on, with a smile : " There's no spot like this 
little town of ours, lad, an thou search the world 
up and down; nay, not even Italy herself, fair 
though she be." 

."Then we'll stay here together." 

"But London?" 

" I care not for London, an thou be not there." 

The man looked back fondly at the small, eager 
face against his shoulder. 

" Say'st thou so, lad ; say'st thou so ? " he 
murmured softly, and his eyes were very ten- 
der. 

At the Swan a number of travellers, already 
mounted, were waiting before the door. They 
greeted the new-comers right cheerily, and after 
a few minutes spent in idle talk the little caval- 
cade set out on its journey, clattering down 
Bridge Street and over the great bridge, and 
thence into the road which led to Shipston and 
Oxford, and so winding on to the wonderful 
metropolis itself. Hamnet still continued with 
his father, an observant listener of the conversa- 
tion carried on between his elders. 

But all too soon Will Shakespeare dropped 
behind the others. His horse stepped slowly. 
There was no danger of falling off, and yet Ham- 
net clung very close, and the man put his hand 
over the little, straining fingers that were clasped 



44 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

above his heart as if he would not let them go. 
So they rode for a shoi t space in silence. 

The sun was up, and from the roadside bushes 
and the thinning trees there came the sound of 
gay bird-voices, but neither man nor boy heeded 
them. Suddenly the horse stopped altogether, 
and the strong fingers undid the little clinging 
ones tenderly. The bridle-rein lay on the roan's 
neck, and the man turned and took the child in 
his arms, kissing him fondly. 

" Thou must go home," he said ; " nay then, I 
like a sunny face. So ! that's my own true lad. 
Cheer the others too, the women-folk and the 
little maids. That is the charge I give thee." 

Hamnet winked back his tears and kissed his 
father in return, then he jumped to the ground 
and stood leaning against the quiet horse. Silver 
came close to his side. 

" Do men never weep, Father?" the boy asked, 
wistfully. 

" Not often. We must be brave, and the best 
way is to be masters of ourselves; and yet 'tis no 
harm, sweet, when we are parting from those we 
love. 'Tis nature's due. Only it makes it easier if 
we __^being the stronger ones — keep a smiling face." 

" But thou look'st sorry now." 

" Ay, and I am sorry." 

" And though thine eyes be not wet, belike 
there's a lump in thy throat as there is in mine." 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 45 

" Even so, little lad. I must hie me to some 
wiseman to be rid of it. And thou must do the 
same. Good Doctor Trust or Cheer — thou'lt 
know their dwelling. And I'll tell thee a secret, 
too : the trees and the birds have comfort in their 
keeping for those who go and those who stay." 

" But why doth the choke come in our throats 
when we do say farewell?" 

" 'Tis because we love each other, dear heart. 
And now stand back ; I must not linger." 

" Thou'lt come again ? " 

"Again and again and again. God be with 
thee, little lad." 

" God be with thee, sweet Father." 



CHAPTER IV 

A grandam's name is little less in love 
Than is the doting title of a mother. 

Richard III. 

SINCE that August morning almost ten 
months had gone by. May had been 
ushered in with all the usual rites and had 
slipped away into June. The fields round about 
Stratford were ablaze with gorgeous scarlet 
poppies amidst the yellowing grain ; wild flow- 
ers painted the dark -green thickets with vivid 
splashes of colour, and bits of feathered happiness 
made the arching trees along the roads and in 
the orchards bowers of song. 

The river, too, between its willow-guarded 
banks, raised its blithe voice as it crawled slowly 
by, with never a hint in its laughing murmurs of 
those fearful times when it had overleaped its 
bounds and had swept, like some cruel monster, 
upon the little town, carrying disaster in its 
train — a trusty friend turned on the sudden into an 
implacable foe ! But in this golden June weather 
it sang so sweetly among the sedges, it were un- 
kind, surely, to remember its former ill-doing. 

46 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 47 

Not one of those living in Stratford town but 
loved to ramble by its side as it wound through 
the meadows, gleaming with a thousand laughing 
eyes in the sunlight, or stole away demure and 
quiet to where the overhanging trees made an al- 
most impenetrable darkness. It was pleasant, too, 
to wander within sound of its cheery voice to 
Bishop's Hampton and Charlecote, or to stroll 
past Trinity and down Mill Lane to the path 
leading to Luddington, or to cross the little foot- 
bridge and roam at will through the lush fields 
and along the narrow, overhung pathway of Weir 
Brake. So many places there were to visit 
throughout the summer days, it were no easy 
task to make a choice. 

But of all the lovely ways leading out of the 
small town, the way to Shottery was the loveliest, 
to the thinking of the young Shakespeares and 
to the heart of their mother. The small hamlet 
was a short mile from Stratford, and thither the 
children made constant pilgrimage, traversing 
the little path that wound across the meadows, 
now beneath the shade of stately elms through 
which the sunlight flickered in shifting patterns, 
like fine cut-work at their feet, now by tangled 
hedges where the flowers nodded a welcome and 
the birds sought to detain them with their songs, 
or again it straggled out into the open with the 
wide sky all about them. 



48 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

When Shottery was reached the path was ex- 
changed for the familiar lane, and there before 
them stood the object of their quest. It was a 
picturesque little cottage built of wood and 
plaster, ribbed with massive timbers — crossed and 
visible all along its front — and covered with a 
substantial roof of thatch. The wicket hung 
loosely under the shade of a thorn, and, once in- 
side the gate, a line of stones led through the 
garden to the house-door. To the children, fond 
as they were of the house and its inmates, and 
certain always of a welcome that filled them with 
a sense of their own importance, it was ever a de- 
light to them to find the door made fast. Mistress 
Hathaway, waiting eagerly within for a glimpse 
of the young life which their gay voices had her- 
alded along the lane, never in her impatience 
went to greet them on its threshold. She knew 
the pleasure it gave them to pull the wooden latch 
themselves and have the door open at their touch. 
Each one in turn, when a tiny child, had learned 
the secret : ' Pull the string and you'll get in ! ' 

Long before they had reached the stature to 
grasp the bit of wood which was nailed on the 
door, some kindly arms had raised them to the 
coveted height, and one chubby hand had taken 
hold of the wood proudly while the other had 
pulled the bobbin. Over and over again the 
door had responded to that " open sesame," and 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 49 

on each occasion joyous gurgles of merriment 
filled the air. They had gradually outgrown 
such expressions of delight, though the pleasure 
of seeking and obtaining admittance at the old 
door still remained. Susanna, now that she was 
thirteen, liked to pull the bobbin in a grown-up 
fashion, as a Court lady on a tour of country 
visits would be minded to do, while Judith, who 
alternately aped her sister's or her brother's 
ways, was now a fine dame approaching the 
door with mincing steps and much smoothing 
out of her gown and patting of her hands, as if, 
forsooth, the latter were covered with fair-scented 
gloves ; or she would swagger up like any saucy 
rogue, and rain some rousing thwacks upon the 
wooden surface before discovering the string. 
She made them sound almost as loud as Ham- 
net's lusty strokes, so that Gillian would murmur, 
in the buttery : 

" Body o' me ! an I could catch that boy " 

Shottery was as familiar to the children as the 
town where they lived with their father's people. 
They loved the lanes between the mossy banks 
where the little brooks came rushing and tinkling 
along, their gleeful voices making the green 
silences alive with sound. Oh ! those wonder- 
ful Shottery lanes, with their wealth of blossoms 
which they could not hide, nor did not wish to 
hide, from those loving young eyes ! The chil- 
4 



50 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

dren knew well where to find ' the ladies' smocks 
all silver white/ the primrose with its wrinkled 
leaves, the ' violets dim/ and ' the daffodils that 
come before the swallow dares.' They knew, 
too, where, as soon as the birds had paired, the 
arum — their mother's favourite — lifted its pointed, 
black-spotted leaves from the sides of the ditches. 
She would often seek it with them, and they 
never tired of hearing her tell how she had 
sought it in the long ago with their father, and 
what he had told her concerning its way of grow- 
ing. And they would fall a-laughing with her at 
the dismay she had caused her neighbours, who, 
•wise in herb-lore, declared the arum to be poison- 
ous ; and when she had borne some away with 
her, had said she was bewitched, because no ill 
effects followed. 

But dear as the lanes were to Susanna and 
Judith, they appealed more directly to Hamnet's 
dreamier nature. He asked no greater pleasure 
than to roam through them at all seasons, with 
Silver at his side, peering now into one flower's 
face, now into another's, searching the tangle of 
green for some shyer beauties, or, when the 
season was far advanced, finding some belated 
blossoms hidden away where they made a second 
summer for themselves, or, in the whiteness of 
winter, guessing at the sleeping things locked 
close in the heart of nature. 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 51 

The birds, too, were his friends. The robin- 
redbreast, that haunts the lanes of Shottery, was 
as safe from harm at his hands as though it were 
not ' the bird of God,' and the other little 
brothers of the air had naught to fear at his ap- 
proach. He listened to their songs and recog- 
nized each voice. That was a concert worth 
hearing ! The dunnock, from its home in the 
hedge, uttered its tender song, now loud, now 
subdued, and yet exceeding mellow ; the * black- 
cap' joined in with his deep, rich strain; the 
' white-throat ' fluttered from his gauzy nest in 
the sweet-brier bush and balanced upon a spray, 
his little breast swelling with music ; the ' proud- 
tailor,' from the tangled, weed-choked thicket, 
where grew the thistles which formed his chief 
diet, sang his part ; and the other lane-birds, the 
throstle, chaffinch, greenfinch, yellow-hammer, 
and the modest little wren, each had its note to 
add. From the copses came the sound of the 
nickle, tap-tap-tapping at the trees, and the mourn- 
ful cries of the queecer. 

Much of his knowledge of birds, Hamnet had 
derived from his father when together they 
roamed about the country, the tall man making 
stories for the gladly listening ears of the little 
lad at his side. It was an additional zest to the 
child to study the ways of his feathered friends, 
that he might thus be enabled to tell his father 



52 Will Shakespeare 's Little Lad 

on each recurring visit. He could imitate their 
notes with an exactness that was well-nigh 
marvellous, and he would often answer the dif- 
ferent calls as if the greetings were intended 
alone for him. 

It so befell that that June, in the year 1 596, Anne 
Shakespeare and her children were staying a few 
days at Shottery, much to the satisfaction of 
good Mistress Hathaway, who was apt to grow 
lonely and a trifle peevish at times. If she could 
have had her will she would have kept the little 
ones with her always — a proceeding to which the 
grandmother in town would not hearken for an 
instant. 

"La, Anne," Mistress Hathaway said, as she 
and her daughter sat together at the close of day, 
" 1 see no reason why thou and the children 
should not tarry here till Michaelmas. Mistress 
Shakespeare hath her good man for company, 
though ill-fortune hath soured him sorely — an 
honest soul as thou'dst find on a summer's day, 
and a kind, but thriftless — thriftless, and over fond 
o' show ! Marry ! 'tis a grievous world to see. 
He had ever a pretty turn to's wit, and well I re- 
member the praise he gave me for my cowslip 
wine. 'Twould have painted my cheeks tarna- 
tion had I not known that no better was ever 
brewed in all Warwickshire. Od's pitikins ! that 
he should have fallen on such evil times — a man 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 53 

with so ready a tongue in 's head, and such an 
incrimination o' good things. But alack ! alack ! 
time hath changes for us all, and he's grown the 
silentest man in the varsal world." 

" F faith, not so, good Mother. He goeth not 
much abroad, as once he did, but for long there 
was the fear o' the ill his creditors would work 
him, and now that that fear's ta'en away, he hath 
fallen into the habit o' staying at home." 

" Ay ! and into the habit o' being mum, I 
promise thee. That's what overmuch staying by 
one's hearth breeds — silence — silence. The tongue 
rusts from lack o' use ! An the stream be dry 
by the mill, then 'tis vain carrying grist thither. 
The last time I met John Shakespeare he'd but a 
word to say : ' Give ye good-morrow, good Mis- 
tress Hathaway.' That was suffigance, and so he 
passed on. Soul o' me ! I wot well the rencoun- 
ters we were wont to have when he'd chat and 
chat, so 'twould be hard to put in even a ' hem,' 
and always some mention o' the cowslip wine be- 
fore he went. And now, I might never have made 
* the best in Warwickshire ' — 'twas his very 
phrase — ay ! and still do ; there's no divergence, 
save it be in the bettering — for all that some folks 
remember." 

" He hath not forgot, good Mother. 'Twas only 
yestreen, when I told him we were coming hither 
for a little stay, that he said, smacking his lips : 



54 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

'There be many changes, but I remember an 
'twere yesterday the very first time I tasted Mis- 
tress Hathaway's cowslip wine. She's a famous 
housekeeper/ quoth he, ' and no one can make 
you a finer warden-pie come shearing-time.' " 

" Tut ! tut ! and that before his own good wife, 
too." 

" Oh ! my Mother Shakespeare was not by ; she 
had gone a walk with Hamnet." 

" Hm ! But very like he hath said it in her hear- 
ing oft. Dost think he hath ? Men have no con- 
cernment ! I would not have the creature's feel- 
ings hurt, and yet Mistress Shakespeare's pies are 
too pale — she's chary wi' the saffron. Methinks 
the taste o' mine is vastly inferior ; but go to — 
when thou goest back to Stratford I'll give thee 
a bottle o' wine for Master Shakespeare ; he was 
ever a man o' most unwarrantable taste." 

The two women were sitting side by side on an 
oaken bench in the arbour. It was a favourite 
place with Anne, for here, years before, she and 
her young lover used to meet. A walk, shut in by 
tall box, led round the garden to the arbour, which 
was also formed of box and was screened from 
view by a high hedge. 'Twas a quiet spot to rest 
in, with one's work and one's thoughts of those 
happy, happy days, while just without the flow- 
ers nodded in the sun and made the air sweet 
with their perfume. Anne drew her needle in 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 55 

and out of the fine fabric which she was embroid- 
ering with Coventry blue, a little smile dancing 
in her lowered eyes. Her mother leaned forward 
curiously and took up an end of the linen be- 
tween her thumb and forefinger. 

" What gear is this ? " she asked, after a moment. 

" 'Tis a shirt for Hamnet, my Mother." 

" Hamnet — Hamnet — Hamnet," grumbled the 
old woman ; " I do detest, you be all stark mad 
about the lad. The other day when I saw Mis- 
tress Shakespeare she was knitting a pair o' 
stockings o' finest yarn, wi' quirks and clocks 
about the ankles fit for a lord. ' Who be these 
for?' quoth I. 'For my dear Hamnet/ quoth 
she. And at that I was exceeding wroth. I'd a 
pair in my poke that I'd knit speciously for the 
lad out o' good Warwickshire wool, spun by these 
very hands, and all my work had gone for naught. 
My cake was dough ! What ! an thou lettest the 
lad go tricked in such fashion he'll have no care 
for plainer things, and that's the certain o' it ! I'll 
not have my gift scorned, and so I'll e'en purvey 
it elsewhere." 

" Not so, sweet Mother; the stockings must be 
for Hamnet, as thou first intended, and right glad 
will he be to have them. The ones his Grandam 
Shakespeare is making are for his Sunday best." 

" I trow so. La, mine are but every-day affairs ; 
he'll not use them overmuch." 



56 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

" In sooth he will, six times as much as the 
others, when thou remember'st there are six com- 
mon days to the one Sunday. Thou'lt give them 
him ; there's a good grandam ! But think not I 
favour him more than the little wenches. I'm 
e'en making them smocks set about wi' cut- 
work." 

" Vanity ! Vanity ! A touch o' broidery on a 
boy's shirt comes not amiss, but a maid's head 
is soon turned with such gawds. Where didst 
get this stuff ? 'Tis most marvellous fine ; the 
greatest thread therein is not so big as the small- 
est hair. Was it from London ? " 

" Nay, then, I got it May-day from the pedler 
who had it in 's pack. He said it came from 
France, from a place called Cambrai — a heathen- 
ish place, marry, where they speak no English. 
But be the folks heathen or no heathen, they 
make right pleasing stuff. 'Tis mightily favoured 
at the Court ; the Queen herself hath her ruffs 
made therefrom." 

" An thou copiest the Queen and her wardrobe 
thy husband will be sore put to getting money 
for thy extravagances. 'Tis out o' all whooping 
that a daughter o' mine should flitter her sub- 
stance like this. Thou'lt be wearing all crimson 
next ! But town ways are town ways, and every 
gossip must go better pranked than her neigh- 
bour. 'Twould never have happed, I warrant 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 57 

me, an thou hadst lived the year round at Shot- 
tery. Here thou couldst save thy angels ; here 
there be no folderols." 

" La, an thou chid'st me so, I'll e'en give the 
partlet I've made thee o' this same cambric to 
my dear Mother Shakespeare ; 'twill become her 
won " 

" A partlet, say'st thou ? Now blessings on thy 
heart for it ! Hast brought it wi' thee ? Nay, 
nay, I detest, I spoke but in mirth." 

" Ay, good Mother, the partlet is in my cham- 
ber, but 'tis not finished. Susanna hath besought 
me to let her make it brave with broidery." 

" She'll not spoil it, will she ? 'Twere a pity, 
and it such fine stuff and not its like in Shottery 
village. I'll be in tirrits and frights till it be 
done. Prythee now, say thou wilt do the finish- 
ing thyself, dear wench. The child is over young 
to be trusted wi' such work." 

" Fear not, my Mother ; I'd trust Sue to make a 
forepart for the Queen. There's not a lass any- 
where that is handier with her needle. She can 
do you fernstitch " 

"And Spanish, rosemary, and queen — that's 
four — besides cross-stitch, chain, and newback," 
cried a laughing voice. 

" Out upon thee, thou young baggage ! " Mis- 
tress Hathaway exclaimed, turning with a start, 
to be confronted by Susanna's dimpling cheeks. 



58 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

" Out upon thee ! We've an adage here about 
listeners." 

" It came not true then, for I heard naught but 
good, as how should it be else when my sweet 
mother speaks o' me — ay, and my grandam too ? " 

" Forget it all — forget it all ! * Praise to the 
face is open disgrace.' " 

" Tis passing strange," sighed little Judith, as 
she nestled against her grandmother, " that praise 
should be so sweet ! I can always do thrice as 
well when someone cries * How nice ! ' And 
when I go abroad it maketh the day sunnier if my 
good mother kisseth me and saith I'm her own 
dear mouse, and ' there's not a prettier little lass 
in Warwickshire.' " 

" Tilly vally ! Is this thine upbringing ? Pretty 
quotha! What's pretty? Thou shouldst not 
know the insignificance o' the word. I marvel, 
Anne, thou art so fond ! The child is over young 
for such thoughts — she should not be told — 'tis 
all too soon a maid findeth her way to the look- 
ing-glass." 

" Is't that we be born so, Grandam ? Verily, 
no one hath told me what pretty means. My 
Grandmother Shakespeare and my dear mother 
are pretty, and Susanna, too, and methinks 
thou'rt pretty an that thy lips be smiling as even 
now. But Gillian is not pretty, and 'tis better 
to say that softly, that she may not hear. She's 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 59 

very ugly to look upon, and yet she maketh such 
brave, brave marchpane. And so I tell her — 
there's no harm in that, is there, Grandam ? It 
pleaseth her so." 

" No harm at all. Marry, thou'rt a wise coun- 
sellor and a pretty one. A little injudicious 
praise is good sometimes ; but I pray Gillian's 
head be not turned ; she needeth watching — she 
needeth watching. She is slow o' reprehension, 
too, and thou'dst never believe how long I was 
teaching her to make that same marchpane. By 
night and day still was I at it, and e'en now must I 
caution her that she putteth not in too much sugar. 
The wench leadeth me a very frampold life. Well- 
a-day ! we must bear what God willeth and never 
repine, though it giveth us sore heartache. But 
go to, I must show thee how to make some kick- 
shaws. Woul't like to learn?" 

" So much, so very much. When shall it be ? 
Now?" 

" Nay, not now, for 'tis nigh trencher-time. 
Thou'lt get naught but frumenty this even." 

" I like thy frumenty." 

" And mayhap a spoonful o' custard. I'll give 
thee destructions in the morning." 

" I shall not sleep with the thinking o' it ; and 
Susanna must help. Wilt thou, sweet Sue ? And 
Madam mother must not know until it be done. 
Shall it be " 



60 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

There was a long whisper in Mistress Hatha- 
way^ ear, followed by a peal of laughter. 

" Susanna doth know already how to make so 
many things, " Judith went on, nodding over at 
her sister. 

" Ay, Susanna is a good housewife," her mother 
said, smiling fondly, " as thou wilt be, my little 
mouse, when thou hast left Dame Perrot's 
charge." 

" And how much longer doth the schooling 
last?" 

" Only this summer, sweet Grandmother. I be 
eleven now, and too old for school. Already I 
can do divers goodly stitches ; not so many as Sue, 
for she knoweth more than she said just now ; and 
not so smooth, but that will come, they say. I've 
made a gown, too, for my mammet, though that 
was not done in school. There I work my 
sampler, and good Mistress Perrot praised it be- 
fore all the others. And I can read a little, 
though I must e'en go slow over the bigger 
words, and write — hm ! not overwell. Mistress 
Perrot doth oft chide me because I roll my 
tongue about when I make the letters, but 'tis 
the greatest help in this varsal world." 

" The greatest help ! pow-wow ! Who ever 
heard o' such a thing? What say'st thou, 
Sue?" 

The older girl was seated on the arbour-step, 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 61 

with her elbows on her knees and her chin rest- 
ing in the hollow formed by her hands. She 
looked up, as her grandmother addressed her, 
with a little frown upon her brow. 

" Why, I tell Jude 'tis arrant nonsense, but she 
will still be talking. I mind her no more than 
summer flies ; there need be no such pother about 
writing — 'tis easy enow. But, Grandam, I think 
it is not just that girls should learn so little. I'd 
like to go to school longer and read books and 
books. I want to learn the tongues as Hamnet 
doth " 

" Tut ! tut ! one tongue is enow for a woman ; 
it serveth her better than a man's doth any day, 
wi' all his requirements. The parson doth ever 
chide us for overmuch talking. Thou'rt wrong, 
Susanna, to want more learning. Learning is a 
parlous thing for one o' thy sex. Go to ! thou 
canst read a little and write a little, and that's 
more, i' faith, than I can do, and I haven't found 
the world a hard place to get on in these three 
score years and ten. 'Tis right for men to be 
candle-wasters, an they have the wit ; but, hark 
'ee now, who'd look after the puddings and the 
meats, an the women aped their masters? Let 
the girls keep away from books and learn to bake 
and brew and sew, say I ; schooling is not for 
them." 

" Nay, then, Grandam, I see not why I should 



62 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

not study the same as boys do. 'T would be 
wondrous pleasant, methinks, to be able to read 
the books that are printed in London town. The 
Queen now is very learned." 

" The Queen is— the Queen ! " 

" The Queen is just a woman, after all ! " 

" Peace, peace, thou speaketh treason. She is 
the Lord's anointed." 

" In truth, I would not be unmannerly to thee, 
Grandam, but she is a mere woman — a plain 
woman, my father saith." 

" Thy father's tongue will bring him into mis- 
chief and to the Tower, an he be not careful. 
Many have been clapped there for less than 
that ! Speak not so loud, I do beseech thee. 
Here's Gillian come to reform us 'tis supper-time. 
I pray she heard thee not ! 'twould be all over 
Shottery, an she had — she is a very tattling wench. 
I mislike her smile ; 'tis too wise, by far. Come, 
come, let's go in. Pray God she heard thee not ! 
Where's Hamnet?" 

" We left him playing at cherry-pits, but he was 
going to help Thomas fold the sheep." 

"Then he's at the house before us," Mistress 
Shakespeare interposed with a laugh, " for I hear 
Thomas singing 'I mun be married o' Sunday !' 
Mercy on us ! how long he hath sung that tune. 
When I had fewer years than thou, Judith, lass, I 
mind me hearing him drawl it out in just the same 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 63 

fashion at harvest-time ; ay, and indeed all through 
the years : 

4 1 mun — I mun be married o' Sunday.' " 

" And was he married on that day ? " 

" Not so, duck ; he's still a bachelor. Great 

talkers are little doers, saith the proverb. Marry, 

that's a true word." 



CHAPTER V 

Welcome hither 
As is the spring to the earth. 

A Winter's Tale. 

O, this boy 
Lends mettle to us all ! 

Henry IV. (Part I.) 



a 



A 



RT all alone, good Grandam ? " 

"Yea, dear lad, all alone. Thy grand- 
father hath gone to Snitterfield to see 
Uncle Henry, and I have been by myself since 
early morn. But come hither, come hither; 
thou'rt welcome, and Silver too." 

"And hast thou missed us much?" the boy 
asked, as he leaned over Mistress Shakespeare's 
chair to kiss her. 

" What, Master Vanity, dost think I've been 
sighing here all this while for a glimpse o' thy 
bright eyes? I've other things to do." 

"La! Silver and I know better," Hamnet cried, 
triumphantly. " I'll warrant me thou hast looked 
up the road and down the road a score o' times 
this day to see us coming. And now thou art so 
glad, eyes and mouth laugh for very joy." 

64 



Will Shakespeare 1 s Little Lad 65 

" Go to, for a mass o' conceit ! As if thy com- 
ing meant so much to me ! Why — why — thou 
art a very wizard, then, and canst read a body's 
thoughts." 

She put her arm about him and drew him close, 
stroking his bright hair and glowing cheeks 
fondly. 

" Methought thou wouldst never come," she said, 
with a little catch in her voice. " A score o* times, 
didst say ? Marry, I kept no count, though me- 
thinks 'twas liker an hundred. Up and down — 
up and down — I could not stay at my work, and 
every tiny speck in the distance methought was 
thee. ' And this time surely/ I would say ; but 
the speck would come nearer and nearer and be 
some neighbour, or mayhap a stranger, or a child. 
' O' Thursday he promised to be here,' I told my- 
self, ' and this is Thursday — and — and ' " 

" Thou hadst me drowned in Avon, or seized 
by a sixpenny-striker, or lured away by the fairies, 
I wis ! " 

" Never mind what I thought so that thou art 
here at last. But art borrowing manners from 
the Court ? Art going to leave a fond lady to 
sigh for thee, so that she will love thee the better 
for her longing? Thou'lt never be a promise- 
breaker, I trow, with those honest eyes." 

" Never, Gran, never. I would have come 
faster, but there were these flowers to gather for 
5 



66 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

thee ; and then I met good Sir Richard i' the 
woods, and I needs must stop and talk with him." 

" And what said he ? " 

" Nay then, I must borrow me that giant's 
mouth father told us of to tell you all. But 
chiefest was this: he hath some new books come 
from London town, and I may go to look at them 
and read them, an I list, any time I may come, and 
Silver too ; he likes to have us by." 

"Ay, I warrant me he doth, and so do other 
people. But how didst leave thy other grandam, 
good Mistress Hathaway, and how be the rest? " 

" Why, well, passing well. Judith would have 
come with me this day, but my grandmother is 
e'en showing her how to make a gooseberry tart 
— she will make it with the lattice-work, like the 
meat-pies at Christmas — and Susanna stayeth to 
help her." 

"And thy mother?" 

" My mother sitteth in the arbour and singeth at 
her stitchery. 'Tis very pleasant there." 

" Paint me a picture o' it all." 

The boy knelt down at the woman's side and 
threw his arm across her lap, looking up into her 
face with a laugh. Silver lay at a little distance, 
his head resting between his paws, his large, sad 
eyes fixed upon his master. The casement was 
open and a climbing rose turned from the sun- 
shine without to peer curiously in at the pretty 




" Paint me a picture o' it all." 



Will Shakespeare's Lillle Lad 67 

scene. It was very cool and pleasant in the low 
room. The vine at the window cast a graceful, 
flickering pattern of dark, nodding leaves upon 
the stone flagging, which had been freshly scoured 
only that morn and then finished off with a wash- 
ing of milk. The pattern was prettier by far 
than the simple border of chalk which ran round 
the floor. There was no fire in the wide fire- 
place, though it was laid ready for lighting, and 
the kettle hung by its long chain from the guy- 
pole in the chimney, its cheery, sputtering voice 
silent for the once. At one side was an oaken 
dresser, where the pewter mugs and platters with 
some treen trenchers and bowls stood a -row. 
There was little other furniture in the room — a 
long settle, whose wooden hardness was concealed 
by a cushion stuffed with rags ; several joint 
stools ; a chair or two, and a table of the plainest 
construction, with the flap let down. In one cor- 
ner stood Mistress Shakespeare's spinning-wheel, 
and on the window ledge near the small willow 
cage, wherein a bird chirped contentedly, was a 
low basket containing balls of different coloured 
crewels. 

The walls were freshly whitened, and on them 
hung some samplers — the work of Mistress Mary 
Shakespeare and her favourite sisters, Alys and 
Joyce — dimmed by the touch of the passing years. 
One a trifle less faded — the first that had been 



68 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

wrought by Joan Shakespeare — was placed by the 
side of a half-completed one which little Anne had 
never had the time to finish, and just below them, 
glowing with bright, fresh colours, like a bit out 
of their own young lives, were the latest examples 
of the skill of Susanna and Judith. The walls, 
besides, were adorned with ' painted cloths ' il- 
lustrating the story of Joseph's rise to power and 
the Seven Ages of Man — these latter a portion 
of Mary Arden's dowry. There were maxims, 
too : ' Neither a borrower nor a lender be/ i Do 
no man any wrong,' ' Be good unto the poor.' 
Hamnet scarcely ever regarded these now, 
though there was a time when he had delighted 
to read them again and again. 

The little street without was sweet with the per- 
fume of the flowers in the garden and the scent 
of hay from the fields. There were mowers at 
work in a near-by meadow among the clovers. 
'Twas very still save for the singing of the birds 
in the orchard-trees, the hum of bees among the 
straw-bound hives by the garden-wall, and the 
occasional burst of song or laughter from the 
men pausing at their task. 

Mistress Shakespeare looked at the merry up- 
turned face. 

" Nay, laggard, begin, begin," she said, fondly. 

" Shall I so ? Then first— but thou know'st the 
place as well as I, 'tis only to keep me talking — 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 69 

there is the little path that leadeth through the 
garden, past the well, where the water is the 
coldest o' any in Warwickshire, I trow, and oh, 
Gran, the garden is pranked fair with growing 
flowers — roses and the maiden's-blush and wood- 
bine, columbine, the crown imperial, lad's-love, 
and lilies o' all kind, and rosemary — here's some 
for thee ; 'tis for remembrance, so keep it close. 
Then cometh the apple orchard, all filled with 
knolls and hollows, and it goeth up the hill a 
little ways ; then next is the cottage garden, where 
the melons are ripening and the apricots along 
the sunny wall are almost ready for picking. 
And beyond that is the other orchard — oh, thou 
know'st how the tiny path goeth like a bit o' 
yellow inkle between the box-hedges and amongst 
the long grasses. There are many goodly herbs 
on all sides : rosemary again and celandine — how 
blue it is ! 'tis like the sky, methinks, at mid-day 
— and fennel and mint, and herb o' grace. There's 
a bank o' thyme, too, and dew-berries, Gran, the 
dew -berries so monstrous big — they be better 
there than anywhere." 

" Methinks there are as fine dew-berries to be 
found here in Stratford and out Wilmcote way ; 
but I know how it is with thee, there's no place 
so brave as Shottery garden." 

Hamnet laughed exultantly. 

" And my Grandmother Hathaway chideth me 



70 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

for thinking the Henley Street garden the best. 
She is ever plaguing me to say which one I hold 
the liefest, and when I put her off and say ' I cannot 
tell,' she frowneth and saith that is no answer ; but 
she is only in jest, for she laughs the next minute/* 

" And which dost love the best ? " 

11 Nay, thou'rt like my Grandam Hathaway, 
and — I cannot tell — I love them both." 

" But where wouldst rather be — here in Strat- 
ford, or over in Shottery ? " 

" Now Gran, sweet Gran — 'twas only last night 
my other grandmother asked that very question, 
only she said she knew — she's wiser than thou art." 

" And what said she ?" 

" She said she knew I would liefer be here with 
thee." 

" And then, what didst thou say — thou wert 
not unmannerly ? " 

" I' faith, not I, when she was so good as to 
bake me a whole batch o' little seed-cakes ; she 
would not let Gillian so much as touch one — she 
made them all with her own hands, and brought 
them to me." 

" But what saidst thou ? " 

" ' Give thee good thanks, sweet Mistress Hath- 
away.' " 

" Nay, I meant not that. How didst answer 
her question ? " 

" I told her I loved her cakes." 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 71 

" Mistress Hathaway was ever skilled for her 
cookery ; but stir thyself, and there on the dress- 
er thou'lt find what thou wilt find. Tis beneath 
that napkin there." 

Hamnet came back to his place a moment later 
bearing a bowl filled with pepper-gingerbread cut 
out in fantastic shapes. Silver sat up on his 
haunches, a sudden interest dawning in his mel- 
ancholy eyes, as if, after all, life were worth the 
living ; he licked his chops with a quivering, ex- 
pectant tongue, and the next instant his jaws 
closed over a toothsome morsel. 

" 'Tis good, isn't it, Silver? " Hamnet mumbled, 
with his own mouth full. He deposited the dish 
on the floor and sat down again by his grand- 
mother's knee, reaching up the prettiest device 
to her. He drew it back and inspected it closely. 
'Twas a little fat bulging heart, with two letters 
intertwined on one side. Mistress Shakespeare 
regarded him with shining eyes. 

" 'Tis an ' H,' " the boy said, following the 
lines with his finger, " and this other is an ' S.' 
And what may they stand for, good Grandam — 
Hamnet Shakespeare ? Or, as 'tis my heart, they 
may mean ' His Shottery ' or ' His Stratford ' — 
which ? " 

" Methinks, sirrah, thou didst offer that cake to 
me, and, as 'tis mine, I read the letters with a dif- 
ference. The ' S ' cometh first." 



72 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

" The ' S ' cometh first ? Oh, ho ! What an the 
schoolmaster were by to hear thy criss-cross 
row ? " 

" They signify ' Sweet Heart.' Here, give it 
me, and now take it from my hands, and, an thou 
wilt have the letters come in their rightful order, 
let the reading be 'Her Sweet-heart!' How 
doth it taste ? Is it as good as the seed-cake ? I 
do remember me what excellent seed-cakes thy 
Grandam Hathaway maketh. And were they 
brown and crisp ? " 

" When I did eat them methought they were 
the best cakes that e'er I tasted," Hamnet de- 
clared, in a muffled tone ; then he added, as her 
face fell, " and, now, methinks these are the best." 

" 'Tis like thy feeling for Shottery — when thou 
art there 'tis thy favourite place, and when thou 
comest to live i' Stratford this is thy favourite. 
Verily, thou hast a man's heart in a boy's body, I 
trow. It taketh on many images, and the last is 
always the best." 

" Nay, not so, Grandam. Here, Silver, old fel- 
low, catch! I love Shottery with one part o' me, 
and that for many reasons. Imprimis : because 'tis 
where I was born, and where my dear mother 
was born. Secundis : because 'tis so beautiful. I 
love all the country about the village ; there are 
so many birds in the hedges, and the flowers are so 
fair — they are the children and the grandchildren 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad y$ 

o f the flowers my sweet father loved, when he 
used to wander through those self-same fields. 
Sure, never did birds sing sweeter than in the 
Shottery lanes, and he, away in London town, 
can hear them singing still — he hath told me so 
himself. Tertias " 

" Thy talk soundeth like the sermon which 
they say the preacher gave from the Market 
Cross o' Sunday." 

" And I meant it to, but an thou bring'st me out, 
I must serve thee as he did Goodman Barnes- 
hurste. Hast heard o' that? No? Ha, ha! I'm 
glad to be the first to tell it thee, and thou must 
tell it to my grandfather when he cometh home. 
Thomas Whittington was there, and he told us 
the tale — how that Sir Preacher was slow o' 
speech, and monstrous dull, so that the people 
were fair nodding with sleep. And he paid no 
heed to the hour-glass by 's side, but went on wi' 
his firstly, and his secondly, and his thirdly, and 
never a word that the people could take home to 
themselves. So that at last a voice called out : 
' Give us the mate — give us the mate ! ' At which 
Sir Preacher leaned him forward and fixed Die- 
con Barneshurste with a mighty frown, like this, 
and, quoth he, in a voice o' thunder : ' I'll gi'e ye 
the mate, I warrant, but I'll tend to the carving 
myself.' Nay, then, those were his very words. 
So thou must e'en let me take my own way in tell- 



74 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

ing my story, Gran, and hearken to my thirdly, 
'tis most important." 

He sank his voice to a whisper. 

" I'm sure and Judith is sure and so is Susanna 
that the fairies come nights to the upper orchard ; 
we have seen the rings on the grass there — the 
marks their little feet make as they trip it in a 
circle. Bend thine ear down close, for they can't 
abear a tell-tale : we found a mushroom table, and, 
as true as true, there was a tiny, tiny crumb a- 
top — it might have been from a rainbow-tart! — 
and on the ground there was an acorn — and there's 
never an oak-tree in the whole o' the orchard, so 
how came it there? 'Tis the fairies' drinking-cup, 
thou knowest. And Gillian tells us tales o' Robin 
Goodfellow and the mad pranks he's played in 
Shottery. She always sets some white bread 
and a bowl o' milk for him i' the buttery, so that 
when he cometh at midnight to sweep the house 
and grind the mustard he will find something for 
his pains. If she should forget to set them forth, 
now, or idle about her work he'd pinch her black 
and blue. And Grandam Hathaway hath many 
stories about the fairies and how they live, and 
sometimes how they help people, and then again 
how they harm the travellers, showing false lights 
at night and laughing ho-ho-ho ! when they go 
astray in the bogs. I love — love — Shottery for a 
thousand reasons besides, and I love Stratford 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 75 

too. I love the river and the bridge and the 
streets o' the town, yea the very streets, and the 
Guild chapel — I wish they held the school there 
now, I liked to look at the wondrous pictures on 
the ceiling when I went up to say my lessons. 
And I love Trinity, too, and the pleached alley, 
and the dear rooks that are so good o' Sundays. 
Then I love the people here — Sir John Colton, 
h'm ! not overmuch ; his ferula hurteth and his 
great brows are so shaggy ; but I like him when 
I know my lessons." 

" And that is often, I hope, lad, else wilt thy 
father be sore vexed." 

"'Tis pretty often, Gran. I do study gen- 
erally, but in summer when the meadows are so 
sweet 'tis pleasanter to lie wi' Silver and watch 
the clouds sail by in the sky and dream and 
dream, or to play at lastibat or prisoners' base 
in the school-field, or ' Hide Fox and all after ' in 
the Weir Brake." 

" Marry, sweetheart, I know 'tis pleasanter, but 
an thou wilt be a scholar thou'dst best be getting 
thy lessons memoriter. Romping and dreaming 
never helped any lad through the Fables ! Thou 
must e'en study first." 

"All these I love and more besides," the boy 
went on, not heeding her counsel, save with a 
merry twinkle in his eyes to show that he had 
heard her: "the Sadlers, and the Harts — dear 



76 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

Aunt Joan and my Uncle William — and then my 
grandfather and my uncles, too, though Ned need 
put on no such airs even if he is going to London 
soon, he's not so much my elder! — and — and — 
someone else " — he reached up and touched her 
cheek softly — " and this dear house. In truth I 
love Stratford best, for 'twas here my own sweet 
father was born. Tell me about him, Gran, dear." 

" Thou'rt very like him." 

" Mother saith so, and my Grandam Hathaway 
thinks I favour him mightily. How glad I am ! 
I'd rather be like him than anyone else in the 
varsal world." 

" He hath ever been a good son and the light 
o' my eyes when the way was dark and bitter. 
'Fore God, I'm proud o' his wit and fancy, but 
I'm proudest o' the true heart that hath helped 
us in all our troubles and the kindly words he 
hath ever given. Only grow up like him, Ham- 
net, wise an it be God's will, but sunny and gentle 
and honest." 

" My father saith he learned all that from 
thee." 

" Hush thee, now ! thy father hath grown a sad 
flatterer sith he hath met those London gallants, 
though he had ever a winning tongue." 

"Tell me about him — begin, 'tis thy turn now 
to do the talking. Come, 'twas on Saint George's 
day " 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad jj 

" Thou'rt like the prompter at the stage-play, 
sweeting ; thou canst tell the tale thyself, from 
start to finish. But there ! I'll humour thee. Art 
comfortable ? " 

Hamnet stretched himself at full length at his 
grandmother's feet, resting on one elbow and fac- 
ing her, while Silver came close and curled 
against his master's breast. 



T 



CHAPTER VI 

For since the birth of Cain, the first male child, 
To him that did but yesterday suspire, 
There was not such a gracious creature born. 

King John. 

I have liv'd 
To see inherited my very wishes 
And the building of my fancy. 

CORIOLANUS. 

"^WAS on Saint George's day, then, two 
and thirty years agone, that thy dear 
father first saw the light," the gentle 
voice began, " and three days later, as is the cus- 
tom here, he was christened at Trinity. 'Twas 
as pretty a morn as thou could'st wish to see, 
and summer-like too, for the spring had come 
early that year. The fields on both sides o' the 
river were soft and green, and there were blos- 
soms peeping up everywhere. The trees had 
most o' them put forth their bravery, and the 
birds sang right cheerily amid the young leaves. 
I was singing too in my heart for joy o' all the 
beauty in the world as I glanced ever and anon 
from my open casement. I was above-stairs with 

78 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 79 

the little one donning his finery, and my sister, 
thy grand-aunt, Joyce, was e'en helping o' me. 
She had made a mantle for him, fair with fringe 
and broidery — a bearing-cloth fit for a squire's 
child — and when the time came for them to go, she 
wrapped it about his head and tiny shoulders and 
it became him wondrously. Then she took him 
in her arms and bore him gently, but first she 
needs must go up the stairs a little way, as is 
always meet with a new-born child. And what 
think'st thou she did ? * Why/ quoth she, looking 
back at me with mischief in her eyes, ' an a few 
steps up will bring him luck, I'll not mind the 
trouble o' going the whole flight for his dear sake, 
for from my heart I wish him all honour and ad- 
vancement.' So with a laugh she went up the 
stairs to the very top, and then, turning, she came 
down again, smiling softly to herself. And she 
brought him to my bedside for a farewell kiss, 
and, saith she, when that she showed me his little, 
peaceful face: ' No matter how high he climbeth, 
sweet sister mine, his love will always bring him 
back to thee.' Those were her very words ! Per- 
adventure there be some that would say 'twas 
only a merry maid's fancy that caused their utter- 
ance, but I know better. I tell thee, lad, those 
words so lightly spoken fell deep into my heart, 
and many's the time I've thought on them in 
these later years, and I know, i' faith, 'twas no 



80 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

whimsey on her part, but 'twas an angel bade 
her speak them. 

" Then she left me and went down to where thy 
grandfather was waiting, here in this very room, 
with our friends and kinsfolk, and they, with one 
accord, gathered about her to see the babe, some 
cautious-like and others pushing and crowding ; 
but, marry, the manikin knew not fear. He just 
looked at them all with something like a smile 
in 's eyes, as though he wist well what their brave 
sallies meant. And after they had gazed their 
fill they formed into a little band and went 
through the door, and I, watching from my win- 
dow above, saw them troop out into the sunshine 
and wend their way down the lane. Soon they 
passed from my sight, but I could still follow 
them with my mind's eye, faring along by the 
Market Cross, on and on to Old Town ; friends 
and relatives led the way, and then came my 
sister Alys carrying the chrisom, made o' fine- 
wrought linen, white as driven snow. Oh ! 'twas 
a goodly company, but fairest o' them all was the 
child in Joyce's arms, and full well she knew that 
too, for she stepped as proud as proud, walking be- 
tween his father and good Master William Clopton, 
who would e'en stand sponsor to my little son." 

" And he it was that gave him six Apostle 
spoons and the gilt bowl yonder ; thou must not 
leave them out, Gran." 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 81 

" Nay, not I, though I heeded them not at the 
time, I trow ; I'd only eyes and thoughts for the 
babe. Well, they all went along gay and merry 
— I could almost hear their laughter — until they 
reached the pleached alley that leadeth to the 
church door; then their light talk ceased. The 
trees above their heads were fair with buds amid 
the bursting leaves, and here and there a white 
petal floated down, but they passed beneath them 
silently. Twice before had they been along that 
same path with a little child o' mine, and thej 
needs must think o' those times. And to me 
waiting in my chamber, there came a thought 
that shadowed the brightness o' that bright day 
— a thought o' those other little ones whose loss 
had left my home so desolate, and my heart was 
heavy with the remembrance, for a mother always 
remembers ! 

" But they tarried not ; they went on to the 
church, uttering no word, though mayhap many 
a prayer was whispered by them for the boy on 
my sister's breast, as they halted in the porch to 
let him enter first. In that way the christening 
party passed up the nave to where Sir John 
Breechgirdle stood waiting at the font. Thou 
would'st not think but the little one was not 
affrighted in the least by the strange face and the 
deep, gruff voice ; nay, he let fall no whimper. 
And at that Joyce felt her heart misgive her, as 



82 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

I did mine when that she told me, for thou know- 
est they say 'tis always a good sign an a child 
crieth lustily at such times. But when she would 
have been dismayed a bar o' golden light came 
in through the window and touched his face, and 
the glory o' it stilled her fears. When 'twas all 
over, Sir John shook thy grandfather by the hand, 
and said the babe was a likely one and he hoped 
'twould thrive, whereat thy grandfather thanked 
him for 's kind office and bade him to the gos- 
sips' feast, and then they all came back to the 
house and had a cup o' merry-go-down and some 
o' the christening cake and a store o' all things 
fine." 

She broke off in her recital and looked down at 
the eager, upturned face. 

41 All this thou know'st, little lad." 

" Ay, marry, that do I ; but go on, come to the 
Plague." 

" Hark to him now ! The Plague, say'st thou ? 
Ah, those were bitter days that followed ; pray 
God they come not again ! The land was pleasant 
to see, but a grievous ill lay over Stratford town, 
and the green and gold fairness was but a mock- 
ery to the anxious hearts. 'Twas a summer o' 
smoke, as we knew it would be when the ash 
budded before the oak, and a great pestilence was 
all around. Scarce a house was there that was 
not held in its deadly grasp and bore not the red 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 83 

cross upon its door above the words : ' Lord have 
mercy upon us ! ' writ in a trembling hand. ' Lord 
have mercy upon us ! ' How many times I said 
that over as I hugged my little babe close to my 
breast ! and my heart grew faint at the thought 
that no matter howsoever tight I held him I 
could not keep him an 'twas not the Lord's will. 
All day long I stayed within doors — I dared not 
stir abroad — with the little fellow in my arms. I 
couldn't bear to have him from me a minute, and 
every hour he grew dearer and dearer, and every 
hour the fear o' losing him pressed closer. The 
air was heavy with sobs, and the passing bell rang 
slow and solemn, each peal quivering on my heart- 
strings. Sometimes the little babe would stop 
his crowing and seem to listen to the fearsome 
sound. Then would I fall to kissing him and 
crying : * Thou'lt not go, sweet — thou'lt stay with 
mother?' And he would look at me e'en a'most 
as though he understood, and once he threw 
his tiny arm up on my neck as if he would not 
leave me. 

" Nay, nay, lad, that lack o' trust was grievous 
wrong, I ween, and yet I could not help it. Twice 
had my arms been lightened o' their load and my 
heart sore burdened, and I could not let this man- 
child go. But God was good. He did not chast- 
en me. Sure, there was some charm laid upon 
our threshold, for the Plague came not nigh us. 



84 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

The summer waned and still all Stratford suf- 
fered, and ' Lord have mercy upon us !' was ever- 
more the cry. The bell tolled by night and day, 
until its very voice grew hoarse with grief, but 
there came no harm to the little one that lay 
upon my heart. He grew apace, the finest, lust- 
iest child I ever saw, with eyes like stars that 
even then took note o' all around. The woods 
about here turned to red and gold and still the 
Plague lingered and the people were wasted with 
despair. 'Twas winter before it really left us, and 
in that time — in that time, boy, a sixth o' the 
Stratford folk were taken and the shadow o' sor- 
row lay on many hearthstones." She raised her 
apron to her eyes and wiped away the tears that 
had gathered there, then she went on speaking 
very tenderly. 

" There was no shadow on mine, thank God ! 
Only a great joy that had trembled so near the 
brink o' danger it had taught me how to feel for 
my neighbours in their woe. I wot not if 'twas 
because o' those dark times that my little Will- 
iam was dearer to me than any o' my other chil- 
dren were, though I loved them and love them 
still with a true heart's love. But he must ever 
be first in my affection, for my heart-strings were 
bound so tightly around him. 

" Well, lad, he was the sunshine o' the house, 
and he was happiest at my side, though he ever 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 85 

loved to ride on his father's shoulder, but even 
from there he would stretch out his arms to me 
to be taken and kissed and laughed over. He 
was the best and sweetest-tempered babe that 
ever lived, I warrant me. He cried but rarely, 
and when he did, marry, 'twas not to bellow like 
most children ; his little lip would quiver and the 
big tears would grow in 's eyes ; sometimes they 
would fall, but oftenest they'd disappear and he'd 
be smiling again. He was ever smiling, perad- 
venture the fairies were whispering to him." 

" Tell about the time he was lost." 

"Ay, marry, sweeting, thou'lt have the whole 
loaf; thou'lt not be content with less. But to the 
tale. That was when he had just turned two in 
the June o' that year ; 'twas on a Saturday and 
he and I were in this very room, he on the floor 
at my feet, e'en as thou art, when who should 
come to the door but my good gossip Mistress 
Quiney, and she and I fell deep in talk and paid 
no heed to the child. When she had gone I 
turned me to speak to the little one, and lo ! he 
was not anywhere to be seen. On a sudden my 
heart was like a stone in my breast and my blood 
stood key-cold in my veins. And ' Willy, Willy, 
sweet,' I called, hoping to hear his merry laugh. 
But 'twas passing still ; there was no sound abroad 
save the song o' the birds without in the garden, 
for the house-door stood open wide. Then I was 



86 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

dumb with fear. Methought the fairies had 
stolen him away, that 'twas they who had sent 
Mistress Quiney to lure me from my watch, and 
then they had spirited him to Fairyland. I ran 
out into the garden half-mazed with grief, and the 
sunlight blinded me so that I stumbled along the 
path, not knowing what I did nor whither I went, 
and then suddenly I saw a sight I shall never 
forget. There was Willy standing on the grass 
by the elder bush, gazing up at a bird that was 
singing on a spray, as if he knew its song. I ran 
close and the bird spread its wings and flew 
away ; then Willy turned and toddled toward me 
and seized my gown, and laughed and laughed 
again. I did not rate him ; instead I caught him 
in my arms and kissed the dimples in 's cheeks 
and the creases in 's fat little neck, whereat he 
thrust the rose he had in 's hand into my face, 
and naught would content him but that I should 
take it myself and kiss it too." 

" That was because he loved the flower, Gran, 
and wanted thee to love it." 

" In good sooth, yea. He loved the flowers, 
and often would I gather them for him and he 
would use them for his mammets, but tenderly, 
too, as if he would not bruise them. All that 
summer, pleasant days we'd sit in the garden, or 
go into the meadows by the river, and he would 
play with the little things he found there, or he'd 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 87 

listen with all his heart in 's face to the birds' 
songs. He loved them even then. And when he 
was forwearied. with roving he'd nestle close 
beside me and I'd talk to him low and tell him 
little tales, or I'd sing the old carols and ballads 
to him, and though he was but a babe, he seemed 
to understand. Then I said to my heart : ' Per- 
adventure my little child may grow to be a man 
whose dole it is to hearten the whole world.' 
Nay, then, we women often dream fond dreams 
o' our little babes, and how each one holdeth, be- 
like, some great gift that, an we but knew it and 
could foster it with properest care, would flower 
into beauty. Only oftenest we do naught ! And 
so, when I felt this feeling growing and ever 
growing within me as I looked into my Willy's 
eyes, I did bethink me 'twas a sign sent from 
on high, and I resolved to learn from the books 
that I might teach my little son when he grew 
old enough to commence scholar. Thou know'st 
I'd never been to school — there were no dame 
schools at Wilmcote when that I was a child — but 
I made shift to learn myself, and when Willy was 
three, though Baby Gilbert was in my arms, I 
used to give the little fellow lessons from the 
horn-book." 

" The one I studied ? " 

" E'en so, the very same. First he conned the 
criss-cross row and very soon he could make the 



88 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

letters, both small and big, and then 'twas no 
long time before he'd mastered the little words 
and got the ' Our Father ' by heart. All that was 
done ere he was four years old, and he would 
have to reach the age o' seven before he could 
enter the grammar-school ; so thy grandfather 
brought me home an Absey book and Willy 
learned the catechism and commandments there- 
from, and soon he'd all the reading-matter safely 
stowed in 's little brain. Learning came easier to 
him than to me. Many's the night I've sat up 
late studying by candle-light — and studying hard 
— what it didn't take him long to master. And 
besides the Absey book there was the ' Book o' 
Riddles ' I had as a fairing, and there were some 
ballads printed by good Widow Toy and the 
Carols. I borrowed me some books, too, from 
Billesley Hall, and the lad and me did read them 
together. ' The Passtyme o' Pleasure,' ' A Lytell 
Geste o' Robin Hood,' and the story o' the small 
boy and the Frere — I've told it to thee oft, how 
that the little child with his magic pipe could set 
the whole village dancing to his music, and could 
e'en make his harsh stepmother and the Frere 
obedient to his innocent will. There were other 
books besides, and then there was the black-let- 
tered Bible yonder which he would read and 
read. But he was not vain o' what he could do — 
not he ! Thou would'st never have wist from his 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 89 

bearing that he knew more than other children o' 
his age. He was ever ready to be with them at 
their sports. 'Twas he that taught thy uncles 
Gilbert and Richard and thy sweet aunts Joan 
and little Nan their letters, making a play out o' 
it that took all the sting o' study away. He'd a 
wondrous way with children both big and small. 
They all looked to him as leader, but in their 
games he never wanted the best place for him- 
self, still they'd follow him everywhere and listen 
to his tales by the hour — he had many, merry and 
sad, at 's tongue's end." 

" And the dumb beasts and the birds were his 
friends too ? " 

" Yea, that they were. I've seen the birds 
light on his shoulder, and they never stopped 
their singing when he went by. But anything 
that was hurt, or weak, was dearest to him. His 
heart was so large. Yet most o' all, methinks, he 
loved the dogs. He'd a little beastie o' his own 
that followed him as Silver followeth thee." 

Hamnet bent over his dog and pulled his ears 
gently. 

" He couldn't have loved Little Sweetheart as 
I love thee, Silver, not quite as much. There 
wasn't so much to love." 

" Marry and amen, that's chop-logic. As well 
say thy father careth not so much for thee be- 
cause forsooth thou'rt little, and wert thou twice 



90 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

as big he'd love thee twice as much. That could 
never be when his whole heart is thine already ; 
and yet, dear wag, he hath room, and large room, 
for the others o' us too. Thou canst not make a 
measure for love ; it knoweth no bounds." 

" But Little Sweetheart was not so fine-looking 
as Silver, thou'st said so oft." 

" Nay, not so fine, I wis, and not so proud 
neither, for Master Silver there is vain o' his 
glossy, grey coat ; but think'st thou thy father 
only judged from the outside ? When he was no 
older than thou art he found the little beast at 
Snitterfield, harried by some boys who threw 
sticks and stones at the small creature and lamed 
him so that he could run no more, but was e'en 
at the mercy o' his persecutors. 'Twas then thy 
father came upon them at their evil work, and 
though he was but one against the two o' them, he 
treated them to a good threshing both with his 
fists and his tongue till they were forced to run 
away, for they were cowards at heart, as all are 
who attack poor dumb things, or fight the help- 
less. When they were gone thy father searched 
for the little dog and found him at last under 
some bushes, whither he had crawled to be out o' 
harm's way. He lifted him gently in 's arms, for 
the thin, yellow body was covered with cuts and 
bruises and one small paw dangled helpless-like. 
The little creature just looked for a moment out 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 91 

o' his sad, hunted eyes, then seeing only kind- 
ness in my Willy's face, he put forth his tongue 
and kissed the hand that held him. 

" So they came home together, and well I re- 
member the tears my Willy shed, him that never 
cried for his own hurts, as he tended to his 
little charge and set his leg with deft fingers. 
Truly he looked deeper than the outside; he 
looked into the heart o' the dumb thing and saw 
the love and gratefulness there, and love grew 
apace in 's own breast. And from that time they 
were always together. We all loved Little 
Sweetheart heartily, ay faith, heartily ; how 
could we else when he was so thankful for the 
least kind word, and his body would wriggle all 
over did one but take notice o' him by a glance ? 
But though he cared for us all 'twas thy father 
that was first in 's thoughts, as 'tis to-day with 
Silver and thee; he would never see him coming 
but he would catch up something in 's mouth an 
'twere only a dead leaf, and carry it to him 
proudly as though 'twere a gift fit for a king. 
And thy father now — God bless him! — would 
take it with a laugh and a fond touch that would 
make the little creature leap and leap again for 
very joy. There be some who prize not a dog's 
affection, but 'tis not so with me. 'Tis a thing to 
treasure and be thankful for, methinks, for some- 



92 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

times when all the ways are dark, thou canst get 
a deal o' comfort out o' a dog's true love." 

Mistress Shakespeare leaned back in her chair, 
her fine, grey eyes turned toward the window, but 
little did they see of the summer beauty. There 
was a mist before them like a soft curtain that 
shut out the simple room and the boy's upraised 
face and made other things clear to her mental 
vision. They were far less bright than the scene 
before her, but she looked at them dauntlessly, as 
she had looked at them at the time of their hap- 
pening. 

" I'll never say that again about my father's 
love for Little Sweetheart," Hamnet broke in, 
after a moment of silence ; " I'll think 'twas as 
great as mine is for Silver and then I'll know it 
couldn't be greater. But all the same, Grandam, 
Sweetheart wasn't nearly so fine-looking as Sil- 
ver here." 

" That he wasn't, but I do protest, la, thou 
makest a very peacock o' thy dog — see how 
proud he looketh ! Nay then, Sweetheart was not 
so goodly to see, but suppose yon mass o' vanity 
was bandy-legged and always went a little lame 
and had great scars on 's body and a queer stump 
o' a tail — what then ? " 

Hamnet hugged the dog close. 

" I should love him with all my heart, because 
he'd still be Silver." 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 93 

" I trow so. Verily, 'tis not his beauty that 
maketh him dear, 'tis something deeper. They 
are sorry eyes that cannot see below the surface, 
but there be many that are thus sand-blind and 
judge only from the fine feathers without. We 
won't do that, dear boy, we'll look closer and 
think o' the beauty within." 



CHAPTER VII 

Pray you, sit by us, 
And tell 's a tale. 

A Winter's Tale. 

He hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book ; he hath 
not eat paper, as it were ; he hath not drunk ink ; his intellect is not 
replenished. 

Love's Labour's Lost. 

THOMAS WHITTINGTON, whose duty 
it was to tend Mistress Hathaway 's sheep, 
was stretched full length upon the ground, 
in the shade of a spreading elm, fast asleep. He 
did not present a very gallant appearance as 
he lay there in his shepherd's attire of grey rus- 
set with his bag and bottle at his side. His long, 
thin legs were sprawled far apart and his blue 
bonnet had fallen from his head, disclosing his 
straggling, unkempt locks. A shaft of sunshine 
pierced through the leaves above and descended 
upon the lined and weather-beaten face which, 
from exposure to sun and wind, had grown the 
colour of the pampered prodigal's cloak in the 
painted cloth. It danced persistently over the 
great nose and into the cavernous mouth, whence 

94 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 95 

issued such rumblings and whistlings and sigh- 
ings as must have frightened the sheep had they 
not become indifferent and heedless by this time. 
For Thomas was a noisy fellow, and never as 
much so as when he was wrapped deep in slumber. 
Did he clatter about the barn or in the buttery, 
his great shoes — set with nails — beating out a 
barbaric sort of music, did he speak in his gruff 
voice or roar you out his hearty laugh, or did he 
break into song, though he could get no further in 
it than the one line (but 'twas no matter surely, 
since he had no notion of tune) — why, all those 
sounds compounded together could not make up 
a tithe of the din which was ever the accompani- 
ment of his repose. 

But though Whittington slept at his task, 
his conscience was easy ; the rough-haired little 
tyke at his side made an excellent deputy, and 
mounted guard over the shepherd's crook, keep- 
ing a wary watch of the woolly masses lying 
about asleep, or greedily cropping the herbage. 
The dog, like his master, was old, and often 
drowsed in the long, sunny hours ; but it was al- 
ways with one eye open, and woe betide the silly 
sheep who sought to exchange his pasture-land 
for another ! He was shown the error of his way 
on the moment and made a shamefaced example 
of for the instruction of his kind. Nor could any 
stranger venture into the field without giving the 



g6 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

nay-word which should account satisfactorily for 
his presence there. 

The boy singing ' Constant Susanna ' as he 
came across the meadows, however, was no 
stranger, and neither was his companion, the dig- 
nified hound. The small guardian of the peace 
pricked up his ears at the sound of the pleas- 
ant music with its burden of * lady, lady,' and 
sprang forward a few feet to greet the new-com- 
ers, wagging his tail in welcome and giving vent 
to his joy in great, noisy barks which failed to 
arouse his master. Hamnet pulled the sharp 
pointed ears and patted the little cur who leapt 
up to be caressed, but Silver passed on with an 
almost disdainful step, waiting for the boy to seat 
himself before he took up his own position near 
by, sitting up on his haunches and overlooking 
the field where the grazing sheep lay — soft, white 
patches amid the green, almost as if the snows 
of winter still lingered there. The other dog sat 
gravely erect, all idea of drowsiness dispelled, his 
eyes now turned upon his flock, and anon cast 
furtively at one of his visitors as if trying to read 
his thoughts and discover whether any envy for 
his own authority troubled the placid breast. He 
almost wished that some disturbance would occur 
amongst the lambs and sheep, that he might be 
called upon to show his power and thus awaken 
some spark of respect in the indifferent, town-bred 



Will Shakespeare' s Little Lad 97 

eyes. He breathed shortly, and snapped at a fly 
with unnecessary vehemence. 

Hamnet watched his sleeping host for a few 
moments in silence, then with a roguish look on 
his face he broke a long twig from a bush near- 
by and stripped it quickly of all its leaves save 
two at the slender top. He leaned forward cau- 
tiously on one elbow and dangled the branch just 
above Whittington's nose, letting it rise and fall 
in quick succession and making a buzzing noise 
the while with his lips. The heavy snores did not 
diminish for some minutes, then there was an in- 
terval of quiet, followed by a great gasp which 
ended in a growl. The sleeper threw up his arm 
to shield his face, but the pertinacious insect 
darted at his ear and at the bit of brown throat 
left exposed to its attack. Backward and for- 
ward, wherever there was an unguarded spot, 
that cunning, winged thing found its way, and 
the buzzing increased until one would have 
thought a whole hive of bees had mistaken 
Thomas Whittington for some new species of 
flower, some 'love-in-idleness/ and were en- 
amoured of his sweetness. At last the tortured 
man struggled up into a sitting position and 
waved his arms frantically about his head, crying 
in his stentorian voice : 

" Aroint ye! aroint ye ! I be e'en at my work. 
Can't ye leave an honust man alone ? I be e'en 
7 



98 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

at my work watchin' o' Mistress Hathaway's 
sheep." 

" He thinks 'tis the fairies pinching him for his 
laziness," Judith whispered, in delight, bending 
toward her brother. She had just crept through 
the field, and watchful Crab, seeing her coming, 
had gone to meet her, escorting her as Silver had 
escorted Hamnet a short time before. 

The boy nodded in response and brought his 
switch down with stinging force upon the hairy 
fore-arm, whereat Whittington gave a roar of 
pain like a bull in a rage. 

" Out upon ye, ye pestiferous gad," he shouted. 
" I did but close my eye to wink. I be an honust 
labourer, I be, an' one that mindeth a's duty, 
come wet or dry. There's meat for ye in other 
places than in Mistress Hathaway's meadow. 
Away, I say — nay, then, Crab, to't, to't." 

Thus set on, Crab rushed wildly among the 
grazing sheep, scattering them to right and left 
as the wind whirls the snow from trees and roof- 
tops. Silver, quivering all over, uttered a deep 
note of approval, as the scared woolly things, with 
much bleating, huddled together in the farthest 
corner of the field. The uproar was so unlooked- 
for and so tremendous that Whittington threw 
himself over on his face and fell to kicking the air 
with his great feet. Then again did that saucy 
insect, augmented by another guided by Judith's 




" He thinks 'tis the fairies pinching- him for his laziness," Judith 

whispered. 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 99 

hand, dart hither and thither, buzzing and sting- 
ing about the prostrate man's ears, while near him 
two voices sang with appropriate emphasis : 

" * Pinch him black and pinch him blue, 
O, thus our nails shall handle you ! ' " 

The man tossed from side to side and cried for 
mercy. 

" Let be," he groaned, " I'll e'en 'fess. Marry, 
I was at * The Bunch o' Grapes ' yestreen, an* 
there was ale i' plenty, an' the way to Shottery 
was grievous long, an' I corned na home at cur- 
few ; but I seed ye na — nay, that's as true as Crab 
hath loongs — I seed ye na at your dances. I 
corned straight home, though the road were long 
an' waverin'. My sleep's been broke — nay, then, 
I wull sip no more ! 'Tis a parlous thing for an 
old man to play the lad, but 'twas an occasion — 
an occasion — Steve Sly put up the ale " 

His words were cut short by a peal of laughter 
from the children, which was like a dash of cold 
water over the frightened man, restoring him to 
his senses on the moment. He sat up and turned 
a half-angry, half-ashamed face upon his perse- 
cutors. 

" Methought 'twas the fairies," he muttered. 
" But ye wull na tell Gillian ; she hath a framp- 
old way o' takin' a man up. Did she but know 
I'd slept at my task I'd hear nowt but that. 



ioo Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

Wull ye keep peace ? Good then, I be na feared. 
F fecks 'twas parlous wrong I do protest, but 
'twould never ha' happed an Crab had na been 
minded to watch. A shepherd's a man, hark ye, 
that should e'en keep ever awake for fear o' dan- 
gers coming to a's flock." 

" Even so, Thomas, that's what the book saith." 

" I got it from no book, truly — I know not the 
insides o' a book." 

" We put it into English only the other fore- 
noon," Hamnet persisted, " like this : ' Shepherds 
are wont sometimes to talk o' their old lives 
whilst the cattle chew the cud under the shade, 
for fear if they should fall asleep some fox, or 
wolf, or such like beast o' prey should fall upon 
the cattle.' " 

Judith moved a trifle nearer the speaker, half 
in admiration, half in terror of what might be 
lurking in the thicket beyond the boundary of 
the field. 

" Hath he not wit, Thomas ? " she asked, nod- 
ding her head in the direction of the boy. 
" Marry, thou shouldst hear him say it off in 
Latin. Thou hast it memority, sweet Hamnet, 
I wis — come — come — say it." 

Hamnet flung out his arm in a declaiming 
fashion and began to chant the words : 

" * Pastor es aliquando dum pecas sub umbra rumin* 
ant antiquos suos amores recitare solent ' ' 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 101 

" Now, what a thing learning be-eth ! " Thomas 
interposed; "but I'd liefer ha' the English — it 
soundeth more familiarity. There was but a 
word o' thy gibberish that I'd e'en knowed afore 
— 'twas ' dum.' By my troth, a man would soon 
be dumb an he had to talk that heathenish stuff ! 
Now I praise Heaven I come o' dull parentage, 
an' what I ha' to say I must e'en say in few 
words an' fair English. But lad, go to, thou art 
a marvellous scholard." 

" Nay, I differ not from the other boys ; thou 
should'st hear our form go up to say the Fables. 
Wert ever at school, Thomas?" 

" Nay, I had na toime ; my father tended sheep 
an' I must e'en fall to when that I was a little 
lad. But tell me what thou dost and when goest 
thou to thy lessons ? " 

" At six i' the morning o' summer and seven o' 
winter, wet or cold, sunny or sweet, when one 
would liefer play micher — it matters not, there 
one must be. I'm in the third form now, and 
this is what I must e'en do. Every morn I must 
say two parts, one out o' the Accidence and the 
other out o' the Grammar (I'll show thee my 
grammar some day, with the picture o' the boys 
in the tree gathering apples)." 

" Marry, what doth that teach ? Boys need na 
be showed how to climb a tree and steal fruit. 
'Tis born in 'em, methinks." 



102 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

" Nay, sure, Thomas, 'tis the tree o' knowledge, 
like the one that stood i' the Garden o' Paradise, 
and the boys are e'en picking the fruit for their 
advancement. But thou bring'st me out — where 
was I ? Oh ! we say the accidence and the gram- 
mar, and then, look 'ee, each boy must form the 
first person o' a verb active in any o' the four con- 
jugations. And we may go home at eleven for 
our dinner ; but we must be back in our places at 
one, and so to continue there till three, or the 
half-hour past, then there's a rest for a quarter o' 
an hour ; that over, lessons till the half-hour af- 
ter five, and then to end with reading a piece o' 
a chapter and singing two staves o' a psalm and 
lastly with a prayer. 'Tis near six " 

" Ha' done, ha' done ! " Thomas cried ; " I feel 
the sleep comin' back to my eyelids." 

" But our lessons in the afternoon," Hamnet 
continued, with a laugh — " nay, then, thou must 
hear it all, sith thou hast asked. 'Tis not so bad, 
I warrant, for thee to hear as 'tis for us to do, es- 
pecially as Sir John hath a ferula this long, and an 
arm as mighty as old Sir Guy's to wield it with- 
al, and a way o' looking from under his brows 
that sendeth a boy's heart down into his shoes 
an it so chanceth that he hath not got his lesson 
overwell. 'Tis strange how a glance will make 
the wits fly as if they were so many clouds, and 
his look, marry, was like a strong wind scatter- 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 103 

ing them away ! We have lessons in Syntaxis in 
the afternoon that we must e'en say memoriter y 
then must we construe and parse all the words 
that hold the force o' the rule. Two days in the 
week there are lessons in ^Esop's Fables, and 
other two days in Cato, which we must construe 
and parse likewise and say out Cato by heart. 
And Fridays must we e'en translate those les- 
sons into English, construing one o' them into 
Latin." 

"Now, I give Heaven thanks the week is 
done." 

" Nay, there's Saturday for part o' the 
day -" 

" I be glad I be a little wench," Judith laughed, 
" and need not pother my head wi' such things. 
Girls don't have to study, and I shall always have 
Hamnet by to tell me what I ought to know ; 
only I be like thee, Thomas, I'll not want to hear 
it in Latin, save just the little bit that maketh one 
hunger for the English words. But I liked that 
about the shepherds telling o' their old lives to 
keep awake. Tell us a tale now, one that's true, 
an thou canst not tell us something about the 
fairies." 

Thomas glanced apprehensively over his 
shoulder. 

" I wot nowt o' the fairies, save that they do 
none harm unless that they be angered thereto." 



104 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

"Nay, Gillian saith they do, and 'tis best we 
pray to be kept from their evil devices." 

"Believe it na, lass. Gillian knoweth nowt, 
though I be thinkin' she felt their anger herself 
in her young days. Doubtless she touched an 
elfin's ring all shinin' wi' drops when she went 
forth wi' the other wenches to gather May-dew, 
for her beauty's not overmuch to look at now. 
'Tis small wonder she prayeth to be kept from 
their furder wroth. But 'twas she affronted 'em 
fust — 'tis a way she hath ! Speak 'em fair and 
do 'em no ill, little maid, so wull they only help 
thee." 

" Dost know how to go invisible ? " 

Thomas shifted uneasily and turned an anxious 
eye upon the speaker. " There be-eth ferneseed 
now," he muttered. 

" Oh! ay, but verily, Thomas, 'twill not work," 
Hamnet rejoined, in eager tones. " Once long 
agone I found me some, or what looked like it, and 
I swallowed it quick ; then I climbed me into the 
buttery window to get at the marchpane Gillian 
had but just made, and she, turning, spied me 
and, thwack ! thwack ! went her broom. V faith, 
I was not invisible, as my poor back could vouch. 
But I have heard o' a better way, and 'tis e'en 
like this ; come close, the both o' ye, and Silver 
and Crab mount guard : ' Take water and pour it 
upon an ant-hill, and look immediately after and 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 105 

ye shall find a stone o' divers colours sent from 
the fairies. This bear in your right hand and ye 
shall go invisible.' " 

" A stone, say'st thou ? " Judith asked, cautious- 
ly. " Is't what my Grandam Hathaway meaneth 
by a lucky stone, or is't what father told us was 
the 'losopher's stone? Wilt seek it, Hamnet, and 
when? Thou dost not truly think we can go 
invisible, dost thou?" 

" Nay, then, how can I say ? In good sooth I 
shall search for it some day, and thou may'st 
come wi' me, but thou must not breathe a word 
o' this. Come, promise." 

He stretched out his little finger and linked 
it with hers while they both said solemnly to- 
gether : 

" 4 Ring finger, blue bell, 
Tell a lie and go to hell.' " 

When that ceremony was over, the boy insisted 
upon a repetition of it with the shepherd, and thus, 
having bound his hearers to secrecy, he was en- 
abled to continue his conversation. 

" An ever I go invisible," he said, sitting back 
on his heels and resuming his natural tone of 
voice, " I'll be even with Gillian for the drubbing 
she gave me — I'll eat her marchpane and her 
caraways ; I'll spirit them all away to Weir 
Brake and feast the boys. Thou shalt have my 



106 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

stone sometimes, Judith, sweet — tell me what 
thou wilt do with it." 

" Methinks I'll hold it very close and steal soft 
to where Susanna and her gossip sit and listen 
to their talk. They've many secrets, and they 
say so oft when I come by, * Hem ! small pitchers 
have great ears,' and fall a-laughing. So I'll 
e'en hearken when they see me not, and then 
flout them after, and make as if some little bird 
flying through the air had whispered their say- 
ings to me. But an thou goest invisible, fair 
brother, what will poor Silver do ? " 

Hamnet rubbed his chin reflectively; for the 
moment, he had left his dog out of his calcu- 
lations. 

" An I had the stone, I could get cates for him 
in plenty," he said, slowly, " but he'd liefer go 
without, I wot, and see me than have all the 
cates in Christendom. Nay, then, I'll not e'en 
seek the stone ; thou may'st, an thou list, thou 
and Thomas, but tempt me not. I make my share 
over to thee." 

Judith looked off at the sunny meadows and up 
at the hot, cloudless sky, then her glance came 
back to her companions lolling comfortably in 
the shade. She patted her gown softly. 

" 'Twill keep," she murmured, " 'twill keep ; 
there's no such hurry ; I can seek the stone any 
time. I'd liefer stay here wi' thee and watch the 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 107 

sheep ; and that we may not sleep and danger 
come, we'll e'en pretend we be shepherds, and 
we'll talk o' our old lives." 

" Hurrah ! Jude," Hamnet shouted ; " I do pro- 
test I like the game passing well. Here, thou 
must have the crook to hold, and Crab shall stay 
by thee an he were thy very dog; and, Silver, 
lie thou close to me — so ! I'll keep thy cloak, 
Thomas, about my knees — the air is chill, me- 
thinks. And thou may'st have thy bonnet and, 
yea, thy bottle. Now we look like real shep- 
herds, i' faith. Come, Judith, begin — begin — 'tis 
thy own thought." 

" La, now, I prithee, do not ask me," Judith 
protested, with more the air of a fine lady than a 
simple country bumpkin ; " I have no wit. I'll 
e'en listen to thee and Thomas." 

" In sooth, thou must say something, or spoil 
the sport. 'Tis not hard when once thou hast 
made a beginning. Come, I'll help thee — once on 
a time " 

" Once on a time — marry and amen ! I can 
think o' naught ; and yet I would not vex 
thee." She drew her brows together in thought; 
then her face cleared. " I'll e'en sing a verse 
from the Coventry pageant that grandam hath 
so oft told us of. 'Tis not new to thee, Ham- 
net, but it must serve, and 'tis about the shep- 
herds." 



108 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

She paused for a minute, then beating the air 
softly with the crook she sang : 

" ' As I outrode this enders night 

Of three joli shepherdes I saw a sight ' 

("We're three jolly shepherds too, I ween!) 

' And all about their folde a starre shone bright ; 
They sang terli, terlow, 
So merrilie the shepherdes their pipes can blow.' " 

" Now afore Heaven a pious song an' a godly," 
Thomas cried. " Sing 's another verse, wench." 

After a moment's hesitation Judith went on in 
her sweet, childish treble : 

" * Down from heavene, from heavene so highe, 
Of angels there came a great companie. 
With mirth and joy and great solemnitie. 
They sang terli, terlow, 
So merrilie the shepherdes their pipes can blow.' 

" Tis thy turn now, Hamnet," she said, when 
she had come to the end of the carol. 

" Methinks 'tis bitter cold," he mumbled, with 
chattering teeth, "else 'tis the rheumaticisms 
hath crept into my old bones these bitter nights. 
A plague o' sitting here year after year ! " he 
broke off coughing. 

Judith clapped her hands in delight. 

" I knew thou'dst find the way," she cried, with 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 109 

no tinge of envy in her voice ; " but go on — go 
on!" 

" I mind me o' many things," he continued. 
"Now it so befell upon a day." He paused and 
cast a wary glance around. 

" Nay then, brothers," he went on, in a blood- 
curdling whisper, " hist ! there's fearsome noises 
abroad, and mark yon shadow stealing through 
the hedge. Avaunt there, avaunt! " 

Judith dropped her badge of office and threw 
herself face downwards upon the ground, cling- 
ing to Thomas in her terror and screaming with 
all her might while the two dogs added their 
voices to the hurly-burly. 

"'Tis but play," Hamnet cried, in superior 
tones ; " thou art a very baby girl to be af eard." 

Judith sat up and pushed back the curls that 
had escaped from her coif with a trembling hand 
and Thomas looked as silly as one of his own 
sheep. 

" 'Twas so very like," the little maid declared, 
" so very like, I could have sworn I heard a 
growling. I prithee pardon me for bringing thee 
out ; I'll not be so frighted again." 

" Marry, I'll not fright thee. That was not in 
the tale anyway ; I did but make pretence a lion, 
or a tiger was coming for the sheep. But there ! 
'tis gone ; we frighted him off wi' our shrieks. 
Well done, brave shepherds, well done, valiant 



no Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

men, our flocks are safe once more. Now to my 
tale. 'Twas upon a day — nay, I'll not tell that. 
H'm! let me think. Why ! Judith, sweet, I'll e'en 
tell a tale o' those three shepherds thou wert 
singing of but now. They were sore mazed that 
night with the star's shining ; 'twas brighter than 
the moon and sun put together, and it danced 
and danced as it moved across the sky, leaving a 
great roadway o' light in 's track. Now, one o' 
the shepherds was full o' heaviness, but when 
he looked up and saw the star he was exceeding 
glad, though he knew not why. He'd a wish in 's 
heart and he said it o'er quick; he knew that 
whatever one wisheth during a star's flight will 
surely come true, though he wist not that when 
it doth happen one is ever sorry. He would not 
have felt that way ; his was a fair wish, and thou 
could'st not guess it, I warrant me, an thou'dst 
try six Sundays running. So I must e'en tell 
thee. 

" This shepherd had a little lad o' his own, not 
any older than our cousin Philip Shakespeare, and 
not so big nor strong ; he was crookbacked and 
could not walk. Now it so chanced that long 
before, when the little lad was but a babe, his 
father coming home one day was wroth — he was 
in 's cups — and the baby, creeping out to meet 
him, got in 's way, whereupon did the father 
knock him with his crook, and the baby fell down 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad in 

the deep ditch by the side o' the house. And 
after the first cry there was no more sound, so 
that the father was frighted, and gathered the 
child in 's arms and called him all sweet names — 
oh ! he was sober enow then, I promise thee. 
'Twas long before the baby oped his eyes, and 
then it fell a-moaning, and the poor man could do 
naught to ease the pain. Nay, Jude, sweet Jude, 
leave off crying, else I must e'en stop ; 'twill all 
come right an thou hast the patience to listen. 

" The baby didn't die, but he didn't get well 
neither — he could not walk at all and he was ever 
ailing. And his father loved him so much, and 
though he knew that the little lad loved him best 
o' everyone, he never could forgive himself for 
what he'd done, but he must needs think still and 
always : ' Oh, an I could only make my son well ! ' 
So there was the wish in his heart, and that night, 
when that he saw the star, he whispered it as 
he'd whispered it an hundred times before. But 
'twas the strangest star ! It didn't flash out o' 
the heavens into the nowhere ; it just kept mov- 
ing and shining and beckoning, each point a little 
hand, and all about there were soft voices crying, 
' Follow ! follow ! ' 

" Then did he and his brother shepherds get 
them up and go after, treading swiftly till they 
reached a low, dark byre, and they said among 
themselves how strange it was to come all that 



112 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

way just for that, and they were going forward. 
But the star stayed there with a great shining, 
and anon the voices cried : ' Enter — enter — wor- 
ship — worship.' So they went within, and found 
the little Jesus lying amidst the straw with his 
mother sitting by and singing soft. Whereupon 
did each one make his reverence ; but my shep- 
herd, coming last, stopped and looked with all 's 
heart in 's eyes, and the woman, speaking low, 
said: 

" ' Thou'rt a good man, verily, an little children 
be so dear to thee/ 

"And he made answer: 
" ' I be no good man, Madam lady/ 
" Then he up and told his story, whereat the 
Mother Mary's tears did flow, but she said : 

" * Nay, thou'rt good now, and thou art truly 
sorry. May Heaven's blessings fall on thy own 
lad/ 

" And even as she spoke the little Baby Jesus 
smiled with his soft eyes, and put out one tiny 
hand. Then on a sudden did my shepherd feel 
his heart leap within him, and he turned and went 
out into the night. There was a glad song o' 
angels in the air all about, but he heeded it not. 
He'd no thought o' anything but just his little 
child. So he sped on, and lo ! as he came to his 
home the door was oped from within, and there 
on the sill was his very own little son — straight 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 113 

and strong and wondrous fair to see. And when 
the father stood still, as he were in a dream and 
could not move, the little lad ran forward and 
put his arms about him and led him into the 
house." 

There was a moment's silence, then Judith 
drew a long breath. 

" Oh ! I be so glad," she cried, as she leaned 
across Whittington and patted her brother's arm ; 
" 'twas a brave ending, but I wish thou could'st 
tell what they did once they were within the 
house." 

" F faith ! there's no more to the tale — the door 
was made fast. But 1 wot they were happy to- 
gether, thus much hath floated out through the 
chinks and cracks. And now 'tis for Thomas to 
keep us awake." 

" That I canna do, I ha' nowt to say. A shep- 
herd's life be-eth a goodly life, but 'tis over-quiet ; 
still I'd na change it for another. Here I be con- 
tent wi' my sheep an' eanlings around me, an' if 
the sun shineth, why, welcome to its shinin' ; an' if 
the rain raineth, why, 'tis wull for all livin' creat- 
ures. Marry, 'tis a goodly world." 

" That's never a tale, Thomas," Judith inter- 
rupted, with much severity. "Thou must e'en do 
as we did ; we'll not let thee slip. Tell us why " — 
she stole a glance at her brother from under her 
long lashes — " why thou singest ' I mun be mar- 



ii4 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

ried o' Sunday,' and then thou art not married 
at all." 

" Hark to the lass ! " roared Thomas. " Love an' 
marriage — ho ! ho ! 'tis all the maids think on, I 
care na what their age. 'Od's heartlings! I'd 
na marry any she in Christendom. I loike my life 
as 'tis, wi' Crab here for my friend." 

" But why " Judith began. 

" Every why hath its own wherefore," Thomas 
returned, sententiously, " an' I ha' my reasons." 
He glanced at her suspiciously, a sudden idea 
lighting his slow brain. " Was 't Gillian set thee 
on?" 

The little maid brightened visibly. 

" Not so, 'twas only me and Hamnet that won- 
dered." 

" I'd liefer hear a tale o' the wars," Hamnet 
said, coming to the rescue. " Thou wast living 
when Harry VIII. was king, and thou hast heard 
talk o' divers battles, e'en if thou hast not seen 
them ; but an thou canst not remember any at this 
moment, prithee tell us why thou hast no good 
wife." 

" Wert ever in love, Thomas ? " continued the 
little lass, " and didst have the moon-sickness 
and look pale ? Gillian saith thou wert a brave 
fellow in thy youth, and never a better tripped it 
on the green." 

" Gillian hath her good points, i' fecks, though 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 115 

she be curst o' tongue full oft," Thomas replied, 
good-hum ouredly ; " she used to foot it featly 
too. Lord ! Lord ! how many years agone it is. 
An' yet methinks I could dance you a Rogero as 
wull as another e'en at this day — ay, or a Pack- 
ington's Pound. There was one little wench, I 
mind — nay then, how was she called ? — 'tis gone 
— 'tis gone. But she tripped it better than the 
rest, an' up an' down, an' in an' out she went. 
She'd eyes loike a doe's, an' as she danced the red 
come creepin' up i' her cheeks. I ha' na thought 
on her these many years, but it all cometh 
back." 

" Thou didst love her then." 

" She were a very madcap witch wi' her songs 
an' her laughin', but I loved her na; I did but love 
her dancin'. There was another maid hight Joan, 
an' we'd made it up atween us to marry. An' then, 
look ye, being a woman an' fond, she'd e'en ha' 
it I cared more for the lass I danced with ; so she 
flouted me sore, whereat — nay, I were but a lad — 
I hied me to all the fairs an' wakes, an' danced 
an' danced just to show Mistress Joan I minded 
nowt her words. Then she up an' married a 
lout from Coventry, an' so the tale's ended." 

"But what o' the other — the maid wi' the 
roses in her cheeks ? " 

" Why, I wot na ; dead, surely, 'tis so many years 
agone." 



n6 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

" Peradventure she did love thee," Judith said, 
softly. 

" I can na say ; she'd a merry tongue an' a light 
heart, but after Joan went away I sickened o' 
dancin', an' they said the little wench came no 
more to the Green neither. So there's an end 
on't! Wull ! I be an old man, now, an' I ha' had a 
fair life — sunshine an' shade, an' sunshine again. I 
owe no man an' I envy no man, least o' all that 
lout i' Coventry Joan married forty years agone 
come Hallowmas. They say a made a good end 
an' a were glad to go — she grew so sharp o' 
tongue. Nay, I envy no man a's happiness ; 'tis 
enow for I to be here wi' Crab. I ha' saved by 
a tidy sum, an' it shall all be thine some day, lad." 

" Not so, Thomas," Hamnet cried, " though I 
thank thee. I need not thy moneys, surely, and 
so my dear father would say. Give it where 
'twould be more needed ; there be the poor in 
Stratford, thine own home town." 

" Soul an' body o' me ! I'll do what I wull wi' 
my own. It shall be thine an I list, or the poor's. 
H'm ! — that thought likes me wull, though I 
mean na for Stevie Sly to ha' a groat o' what I 
ha' laboured for. But soft ! how long the shad- 
ows ha' grown." 



CHAPTER VUl 

Beshrew me but I love her heartily ! 
For she is wise, if I can judge of her ; 
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true ; 
And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself ; 
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and true, 
Shall she be placed in my constant soul. 

Merchant of Venice. 

An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel. 

Henry V. 

IT was long past high noon when Hamnet, with 
Silver tagging close at his heels, walked slow- 
ly through the Market-place. At that hour 
it was almost deserted, though several belated 
housewives, who were reputed to be unthrifty, 
were ' washing of their clothes ' at the Town- 
pump and hanging them on the Cross to dry, the 
whiles their tongues were more nimble than their 
fingers. The smocks and the hempen towels 
flapped softly to and fro in the faint, warm breeze, 
and the air was noisy with the buzzing of the 
flies gathered close about the meat which some 
butchers had also hung there earlier in the day. 

Goody Baker was brushing the square indus- 
triously with her broom of twigs. She was a lit- 

117 



n8 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

tie, spare old woman bent almost double with 
age and the result of her occupation, and as she 
moved about at her work, with her dark gown 
bunched up at the back, she made one think of 
some curious bird. So that Silver, being of that 
mind, forgot his dignity, and bore down upon her 
with a sharp, yapping noise, which made her leap 
a foot or more in the air, letting the shovel which 
she carried under her arm fall to the ground 
with a great clatter. She turned a wrathful face 
upon Hamnet, her small, deep-set eyes shooting 
forth venomous glances. 

" Away wi' thee," she cried, brandishing her 
broom in menace, though she kept ever on the 
other side of the boy ; " mind the dawg, or I'll 
brain he. A-frightin' o' a body this away. I 
wull to the Bailly about it, an' a wull gi' thee a 
threshin' for settin' o' great beastises on an old 
wummun as doeth her duty in rain or shine from 
sun to sun. There's na idlin' here ; go to Gaffer 
Raven — keep he to 's work. I warrant me a 
breshes na Sir Hughie's bridge as clean as I do- 
eth this Market-place." 

Hamnet laughed and whistled Silver close. 
There was a feud of long standing between the 
two street-cleaners, each one accusing the other 
of idling, and each jealous of the other's suprem- 
acy. Of the two, Hamnet preferred Old Raven, 
who had charge of the bridge, and who, besides, 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 119 

was a splendid hand at a story and ever ready for 
an excuse to pause from his labours. Goody 
Baker was like a little, clattering, chattering mag- 
pie, with a temper like a witch, and there were 
those who hinted that she did strange things 
with her broom when the day was done. Some 
of the rougher boys pestered her shamefully, 
tracking mud and brushwood over the places she 
had spent hours in cleaning, and then mocked 
her at a safe distance from her broom while she 
made the spot hideous with her imprecations and 
threats. Hamnet had ever thought it a shame to 
tease her, but now he came in for a full share of 
her anger. 

" La, Goody," he cried, soothingly, when she 
was forced to pause for lack of breath, " Silver 
meant no harm ; he's full o' life this day, and be- 
like he thought 'twas some kind o* game to see 
thee hopping about ; but he'll not fright thee 
again." 

" Na, I wull see that a doan't," the old woman 
muttered. "An' hoppin,' say'st thou? Marry, 
the Muster Bailly wull show thee what hoppin' 
be-eth. I'll tell he maself how young Muster 
Combe set 's dawg on ma poor heelses." 

" I'm not Tom Combe," the lad interrupted. 
" My name is Hamnet Shakespeare, and I live in 
Henley Street at my grandfather's house." 

" Qh ! ay, forsooth, I knows thee wull. Mus- 



120 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

ter Wully Shaxper — a that's play-actor i' Lun- 
non — 's thy faither. A gi'ed I a saxpence when a 
was here last, an' a saith there was na such shinin' 
stuns i' Lunnon as here. An' that to I an' na to 
yon witless loon, Raven, at the Bridge. An' a 
saith, besides, that oncet i' Lunnon town, when 
the Queen were passing by, the stuns there be-eth 
so dirty she'd a-mucked her shoon, but a young 
gallant from the coort spread 's cloak down i' the 
mud, so that she went o'er 'thout 'filin' o' her feet, 
an' she made a lord o' he on the spot. But an 
I'd been the Queen, I'd ha' gi'ed he a tonguin' 
for usin' 's cloak that away. Wilful waste mak- 
eth woful want, an' a wull coome to that some 
day. An' thy faither saith the Queen 'ud need 
na ploosh cloaks here whur I be wi' ma broom. 
Dost think she wull ever come this way ? " 

" I' faith, I cannot tell. She was at Kenilworth 
when that my father was a little lad, and there 
was monstrous fine doings there, he's told me o' 
them oft, but she came not hither. Like as not 
she'll not leave London, where 'tis so grand." 

" Go to ! 'tis not so grand. Thy own faither 
saith my stuns be cleaner ; a saith that to I, an' a 
gi'ed I a saxpence besides, an' a saith that oncet 
the Queen -" 

" Yea, yea, I know ; but I must hasten now," 
Hamnet interposed, " so give thee good den." 

" An' a did na say that to Raven nayther," the 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 121 

old woman bawled after the boy. " 'Twas just to 
I. An' so thou mayest go thy ways ; I wull na 
tell the Muster Bailly, for thy faither's sake, for a 
gi'ed I a saxpence an' a saith " 

Happily for Hamnet, however, he was already 
out of hearing, giving vent to the mirth which he 
had so manfully suppressed in Goody's presence. 
It was the first time she had taken him into her 
confidence, though Raven, with whom he often 
foregathered, had always much to say in praise of 
his father. For sweet Master Will Shakespeare, 
riding to and from Stratford, had ever a nod and 
a word for the bridge-cleaner, and something bet- 
ter, look you ! than either. Something bright 
and clinking that found its way, or soon or late, 
to the Bear or the Crown in Bridge Street, and 
thence, liquefied, to Raven's inner man ; at which 
times he would not have exchanged his state — 
no, not for the Master High-Bailiff's, nor for a 
king's for that matter ! 

Hamnet, once away from Goody's noisy tongue, 
walked quickly past the Market Cross. At one 
side he could see the pillory and the whipping- 
post, and he knew there must be a man in the 
stocks, for a group of idlers hanging about jeered 
at the unfortunate, whose case was like to be 
their own at no distant date unless they mend- 
ed their ways. The boy tossed his head impa- 
tiently, and a hot flush crimsoned his sensitive 



122 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

face, while he clinched his little brown fists. He 
had small toleration for those who, when a man 
was down, were ready with their taunts and 
mockery ; that was the time, according to his 
mind, when one should give nothing but sym- 
pathy. 

" An I were the Master Bailiff," he said to him- 
self, " I'd set 'em all in the stocks for baiting a 
poor wretch so. 'Twould be a monstrous good 
thing for 'em, I warrant." 

He turned into High Street, forgetting on the 
moment his amendment of justice in the inspec- 
tion he bestowed upon Master Rogers's fine new 
house. He had watched it building with the 
greatest interest, following with delight the mas- 
ter carver's hand as the fleur-de-lys and the inter- 
lacing designs grew on the wood-work in front 
under the skilled fingers. Now it was quite 
complete and the family had moved in, though 
there was still a bit of the workman's scaffolding 
beneath the second story windows where the fin' 
ishing touches had just been put to the letters 
" A. R.," which stood for Alice Rogers, the sec- 
ond wife of Master Thomas Rogers, whose ini- 
tials, with the date of the year, also decorated the 
front. 

Hamnet's feet lagged a trifle as he glanced at 
an open casement where a green curtain stirred 
softly in the breeze. He knew all about the room 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 123 

within. His mother was Mistress Rogers's good 
friend, and had already seen the interior of the 
new house, and this especial room, with the win- 
dow seat just back of that pretty curtain, whereon 
there were three fine cushions, also made of green. 

" Good-morrow, little page o' all loves," a girl's 
voice above him called softly. " Whither away ? 
An thou hast an idle minute to spend come in, 
thou and thy shadow, Master Silver." 

Hamnet's hand went up to the flat, gray cover- 
ing on his auburn locks, and he off-capped in the 
direction of the window. 

" Is't thou, sweet Mistress Kate ? " he asked, 
eagerly. " Silver and I were off to Aunt Joan's ; 
a letter is but now come from father from London 
town, and I must acquaint her with it, so hath 
my grandam saith. But there is no such hurry. 
I' faith, 'twill keep ; 'tis only the bad news, they 
say, that travels quickly, and this is the blithest, 
blithest news. My father will be coming hither in 
a scant four weeks' time, and oh ! Mistress Kate, 
he hath writ me a letter, besides, and a verse o* 
poesy with his very hand. I have it here, fast 
by my heart. I would show it thee, an thou 
carest to look." 

" Indeed, la, I do care, so come up, sweeting, the 
door is not made fast. I am all alone in the house, 
save for Marian, in the buttery. My father and 
mother are away to Coventry." 



124 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

The next moment, for scarce longer it seemed, 
both boy and dog were in the pretty new room, 
where the light coming in at the window through 
the curtain was like the summer sunshine flicker- 
ing through the leaves in the woods. A little 
golden fleck, where the curtain sagged between 
the rings, danced persistently upon young Mis- 
tress Katharine Rogers's winsome face beneath 
her demure little cap. She was leaning back 
against the cushions, her lute held lightly in her 
lap ; but at Hamnet's approach she laid it down 
on a stool and rose to greet him, kissing his up- 
turned face fondly, and pulling Silver's ears with 
her pretty hands. 

" Thou'rt welcome," she cried. " Come, sit 
thou here, dear heart, and tell me what's the news 
abroad. How doth all thy good people : sweet 
Mistress Mary Shakespeare and thy sweet mother, 
too, and how is my dear gossip, Sue? And what 
makest thou from thy afternoon lessons, fair 
sir ? " 

" Why, 'tis a half-holiday. Methinks Sir John 
will not live long, he hath grown so kind o' late ; 
or belike he is fathoms deep in love with some 
gentle lady, for he is so monstrous dove-like." 

" I pray Heaven she will not make him wear the 
willow," Mistress Katharine laughed, " else will 
you boys feel the birch. The trees grow side by 
side." 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 125 

Hamnet rubbed his shins apprehensively, and 
made a droll grimace. " Amen ! " he answered. 
" I' faith, I hope she'll love him passing well, for 
our sakes, if not for his own." 

He looked for a moment about the room with 
its new adornings, its bits of tapestry on the 
walls, and its high-backed settle near the chim- 
ney, which was also flanked by two capacious 
chairs. Then his eyes came back to the girl at 
his side. She was just budding into womanhood, 
a fair slip of a maid with a roguish glance, and 
a sweet, oft-recurring smile, and a low voice 
that was ever singing. Hamnet felt all a lad's 
love for the pretty creature, who was a few years 
his senior, and yet who seemed to care for his 
companionship. He had worshipped her after 
the fashion boys have, from afar, glad of her smile 
when she met him, and treasuring up the remem- 
brance of whatever words of greeting she let fall, 
and dreaming often of the time when she would 
guess what was in his heart for her. Then, when 
he had least expected it, there had come that 
happy day on which she had rewarded all his 
faithful devotion. 

And this was the way it befell : There was a 
gathering of young people at old John Combe's 
house, that which had once been the college in 
Old Town over against the church. She was 
there, and Edmund, who was near her age, and 



126 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

the other big boys had formed a train about her, 
urging her to dance, or sing, or play at stool-ball 
in the wide gardens. Hamnet was one of the 
little fellows just looking on. He remembered 
distinctly how he and Tom Combe and Francis 
Collyns, his two dear friends, had crowded with 
the other children about the window when the 
first sound of the fiddles within, squeaking out 
the notes, ' Kiss Her/ heralded the ' Cushion 
dance.' 'Twas always such rare sport to watch. 

Edmund Shakespeare held the cushion in his 
hand and danced about the room, skimming over 
the ground as light as ever swallow dipped above 
Avon. He bore himself right bravely that day as 
Hamnet was more than ready to admit. He was 
fond of his young uncle in the main, though he 
could not always conquer his jealousy when Ned 
talked so much of London and brother Will. At 
such moments he almost hated the fresh-faced 
stripling. In every other thing they were the best 
of friends, and the little lad, looking on at the 
dance, was proud of the graceful figure flitting 
hither and yon. Suddenly his heart gave a great 
thump under his Sunday doublet, for Ned had 
dropped the cushion right in front of pretty Mis- 
tress Katharine Rogers, who half-turned her back 
upon her kneeling suitor. Hamnet clinched his 
fists. Faith, now, but Ned was a daring wight ! 

The gay tune went on mockingly for a minute, 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 127 

then Ned lifted up the cushion and turned him 
toward the end of the room where the fiddlers 
were sitting and sang : * This dance it will no 
further go.' When he had finished his wail the 
musicians, affecting a great show of interest, sang 
in their turn : ' 1 pray you, good sir, why say you 
so ? ' At which he sang again : ' Because Kath- 
arine Rogers will not come to.' Whereupon the 
fiddles scraped furiously as 'twere a lot of hor- 
nets let loose, and the music-makers — an they 
were very gods and ruled mankind — roared out 
right lustily : ' She must come to, she shall come 
to, and she must come, whether she will or no.' 

So Ned, with a sly twinkle in his eyes — the 
rogue, for well he knew the rules of the dance — 
laid the cushion down again and knelt thereon, 
and the maid, with many pretty floutings, knelt 
too, whereat Ned sang : * Welcome, Katharine 
Rogers,' and kissed her blushing cheek. That 
done they both rose them up and bore the cush- 
ion between them, singing : ' Prinkam, prankum 
is a fair dance, and shall we go dance it once again, 
and once again, and shall we go dance it once 
again?' 

Then it was her turn to make a choice, and 
Hamnet, from his post at the window, felt his 
heart leap again, but with a difference. Ned's 
seeking her out showed that to his thinking she 
was the fairest in the company (as was the truth !), 



128 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

but it was no sure sign of her own feelings. 'Twas 
only now that she was to make her selection that 
they would be known, and the youth she chose 
was the one to be jealous of and to fight with and 
overcome — in one's dreams, if nowhere else. 

Mistress Katharine Rogers took the cushion 
from her companion and advanced alone into the 
centre of the room. She darted one swift glance 
around at the merry-makers in the wide circle 
and at the on-lookers thronging the windows and 
doors ; then she stepped forward to one window, 
and the westering sun, peeping in at the sport over 
the heads of the children, kissed her fair face un- 
rebuked. She came on and on, the dimples deep- 
ening in her rosy cheeks, and suddenly she cast 
the cushion before her on the floor. 

There was a stir among the small boys like the 
little murmur Avon makes lapping the cool 
green rushes along its banks. Tom Combe 
nudged Francis Collyns slyly in the ribs, as 
though to say : * Thou art the lucky man ! ' 
whereupon Francis threw back his head proudly 
and stretched up a full inch, while little Tom 
Quiney laughed boisterously in his shrill fashion. 
Only Hamnet stood very still. He was glad his 
rival was to be about his size — there was such a 
good ducking place in a pool hard by ! His head 
was spinning and the fiddles mocked him in his 
misery. He stared resolutely at the top of the 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 129 

door opposite ; but though he was thus blinded to 
what was taking place, he could still hear Mistress 
Katharine's voice as she sang despairingly : ' This 
dance it will no further go.' And then, when the 
musicians had asked in their turn for her reason, 
she sang again, and there was, oh ! such a little, 
pathetic hint of heart-break in her sweet tones : 

* Because Hamnet Shakespeare will not come to!' 

Why, he didn't wait for the musicians' com- 
mands — in one bound he had cleared the window- 
sill and was kneeling before her while they were 
still singing. What did he care for the shouts of 
merriment all around? She sang 'Welcome!' 
right heartily, and kissed him on the lips, and then, 
before them all, she took a flower from her gown 
and kissed it softly and stuck it behind his ear. 
So they both rose and sang, ' Prinkum, prankum,' 
and throughout the rest of the dance they were 
side by side until the end, when, everyone being 
in the ring, each went out as he came in, with 

* Farewell ! ' sung instead of ' Welcome ! ' 

Since that day's pleasuring at the Combes', a 
twelvemonth gone now, she was ever his true 
lady-love, and had bestowed many favours upon 
him. Now 'twas a gilt nutmeg at Christmas- 
tide and anon a little hankercher of less than 
four inches square, wrought round with silken 
thread and with a small tassel at each corner 
and a tiny one in the centre. She had shown 
9 



130 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

him how to fold it in four cross folds so that the 
middle might be seen, and had bade him wear it 
in his cap, as the Court gallants did wear the like 
favours which their ladies gave them. (And 
Grandam Hathaway, who ever liked to know the 
cost of things, said ' 'Twas worth twelvepence, 
and no mistake.' But his other grandam, when 
that he boasted thereon, had rated him right 
soundly for her sweet tongue, and had said : ' The 
gift was worth the love that prompted it and not 
the money it had cost ! ') 

On his last birthday she had given him a silver 
ring with a posy within, and on St. Valentine's 
day he had caught her famously, standing with- 
out her house long ere the sun had risen, and when 
she came to her window to see who 'twas that 
sang, before ever she had a chance to speak he had 
called : ' Good-morrow, Valentine.' At which, 
recognizing his voice, she had dropped her silver- 
gilt pomander to him, bidding him wear it always 
for her sake. Then she had dressed quickly, and 
calling him within doors, they had waited at the 
casement until the other boys, coming after the 
sun had risen with their cries of ' Good-morrow, 
Valentine,' met with no reward but only laughter, 
and were told they were * sunburnt ' and bidden 
hence in disgrace. 

Still he would not have all the giving on one 
side, and so he had ever some little gift for her. 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 131 

At Christmas-time there had come a pair of sweet- 
scented Cheveril gloves from London town, paid 
for out of Master Will Shakespeare's purse, which 
the little lad bestowed upon young Mistress 
Rogers. Proud as he was of that gift, he did not 
feel half so happy as when he bought her a taw- 
dry lace from the mad pedler's pack on May- 
day with his last pence (for gingerbread nuts and 
little gauds for all one's family soon swallow up a 
lad's savings). In other ways, too, he could show 
his thought of her. He never could come empty- 
handed while there were flowers in woods and 
meadows waiting to be gathered, or berries 
twinkling in the sun. He could plait a basket out 
of rushes, or carve some little thing with his whit- 
tle. And when these were lacking, any story that 
he had read was like a gift to her. Even this day, 
when he had not expected to stop at her new 
home, though outwardly he bore no present, what 
greater riches could he share with her than those 
precious words which rose and fell with his heart's 
beating? He thrust his hand into his jerkin, and 
she, noting the action, cried out : 

" Prithee, sweet, show me thy letter without 
more ado. In truth, la, I love thy good father 
passing well, as who doth not? He hath ever a 
kind word for us all, both old and young, and 
what better news could'st thou bring than that he 
is e'en coming hither? V faith, I shall want to 



132 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

see him mightily, though when I hear o' the won- 
drous plays he hath writ I could find it in my 
mind to be afeared o' him, though my heart doth 
counsel otherwise." 

" The heart's the best guide, so saith my sweet 
grandam oft ; and sure methinks 'tis true in this 
case, for there is naught to be afeard on when 
father's by. See, here is the letter." 

He drew the paper from his breast and read 
the superscription proudly : " To my most loving 
and dutiful sweet son, Hamnet Shakespeare ; " 
then he unwound the silken thread which bound 
the packet and laid it upon the cushion at his 
side. 

" 'Tis writ in my father's own hand," he said, as 
he smoothed out the folds with a caressing touch, 
" and 'tis not over easy reading, neither, though 
'twas no pother to me, sith I know all his quirks 
and curls — so I'll e'en read it out to thee. It 
runneth in this wise : 

" ' Alderliefest ' " (and that meaneth ' dearest o' 
all ; ' 'tis my father's own heart-name for me — 
I'll tell thee, anon, how it came up ; but to the let- 
ter): 

" ' Alderliefest : 'Twill be a short month, now, by man's 
count, before I see thee, but a long, long month — for every day 
is that — by mine own heart's reckoning. When 'tis done I shall 
be at home with thee and the other dear ones for a happy space. 
Then will the hours fleet quickly with thee, my young rover, for 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 133 

thou dost ever make a July day short as December, and 'twill be 
sunshine everywhere, no matter how the sky may seem to other 
eyes. 

11 ' Herewith do I enclose a bit of poesy, such as thou hast ever 
begged of me. I writ it the other night, and thou and love are 
still my argument. My time bids me to hasten to an end. The 
Lord be with thee and with us all. Amen. 

" ' From South wark, near the Bear Garden, the 18 day of June, 

1596. 

" ■ Thine in all love and kindness, 

" ' Will Shakespeare.' " 

The boy raised his shining eyes to his com- 
panion's face, without speaking, as he finished the 
letter, and she leaned forward and touched his 
delicate cheek fondly. 

" Marry," she said, softly, " how he doth love 
thee, dear wag. We all do, as thou knowest full 
well, but thou'rt very near his heart." 

" As he to mine," the boy cried ; " thou canst 
not guess how close. Nay, then, I can't abear 
that others be near him and I away. If I were 
only big and strong! There's Ned, now, who 
goeth to London shortly. I almost wish some 
harm would befall him to keep him still at 
home " 

" Peace, peace ! What would thy father say, 
an he heard such words, sirrah ? " 

" Verily he would be sore grieved, I wis, but 
the thoughts choke me by night and day, when I 
bethink me o' Ned's dole." 



134 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

" That's not like my little page o' all loves ! I 
would not have thee grudging another's happi- 
ness, sweet, nor would thy father, I trow. Ned's 
his brother and dear to him, but an thou judgest 
from thine own heart — and thou hast said the 
heart's the truest guide — thy father's love is 
greatest for thee. Truly, la, thou'lt not be 
greedy and want it all for thyself, when others 
hunger for a share." 

Hamnet hung his head shamefacedly. 

" Thou dost not understand," he murmured. 

" No, faith, not I. An I was so sure o' my 
father's love as thou art o' thine, I'd trust him to 
the end." 

" Why, so I will," Hamnet interrupted, throw- 
ing his head back, his small face working with 
determination, " so I do. Only there be times 
that I wonder and wonder about the day when I 
shall truly be with him, and I never can make it 
quite clear in my mind ; often 'tis one way, often 
another, but ever so distant, till that I am out o' 
heart with longing." 

" Soul o' me ! I never took thee for a puling 
lad before. Out upon thee ! Thy father would 
like thee to bear a brave heart, I wot — but there ! 
I'll rate thee no more. Thou'lt mend thy ways ? 
And so clap hands, and a bargain." 

" Ay, that I will," the boy cried ; " I'll do Ned 
no ill turn, I promise thee — not even in my 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 135 

thoughts. But, now, I must away to Aunt Joan's, 
and ere I go I needs must tell thee the poesy 
father writ — I have it already by heart. I prithee 
touch thy lute, sweet and low, whiles I say it off." 
He stood before the girl, with his head thrown 
back, his eyes looking into hers, and she, to hu- 
mour him, fell to picking the strings of her in- 
strument, but softly, too, so as not to lose a word. 

" ' What's in the brain that ink may character 
Which hath not figur'd to thee my true spirit ? 
What's new to speak, what new to register, 
That may express my love or thy dear merit ? 
Nothing, sweet boy ; but yet, like prayers divine, 
I must each day say o'er the very same, 
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, 
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name. 
So that eternal love in love's fresh case 
Weighs not the dust and injury of age, 
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, 
But makes antiquity for aye his page, 
Finding the first conceit of love there bred 
Where time and outward show would show it dead.' " 

His fresh, young voice broke as he reached the 
end, and the next moment he came close to Mis- 
tress Katharine and humbly kissed her hand 
where it lay upon the lute. 

" Chide me not," he whispered, tremulously. 
" I'll try to grudge Ned naught ; when the feel- 
ing cometh upon me I'll say those words over." 



136 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

For all answer the girl put her arm about the 
little lad and pressed his face tenderly against 
her own. So they rested for a short space in the 
gracious quiet of the pretty room, while the cur- 
tain at the window swelled softly in and out, like 
a small sail under the command of Sir Breeze, 
and irregular patches of sunlight dotted the floor 
with gold. 




And she, to humour him, fell to picking the strings of her 

instrument. 



CHAPTER IX 

O, that a man might know 

The end of this day's business ere it come ! 

But it sufficeth that the day will end, 

And then the end is known. 

Julius Cesar. 

A noble nature 

May catch a wrench. 

Timon of Athens. 

HAMNET lay face downward in the lush 
grass, his head resting on his arms, his 
slender legs, in their blue, homespun hose, 
idly kicking the air. Silver was couched at one 
side, but well removed from those heelless russet 
shoes, which described such remarkable revolu- 
tions, having been forced, by a wisdom learned 
from experience, to place a considerable distance 
between him and them. 

There was an open book in front of the lad, 
propped up against a stone ; but he was not 
reading, nor had not been for a long while past. 
From all around there came the sweet stir and 
scent of the Henley Street garden, the little 
hum of the busy insects, the booming of some 
bee-lovers hovering around the flowers, and the 

137 



138 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

gentle rustle of the baby breeze as it lisped its 
half-forgotten message to the leaves of the elder 
bush near at hand. 

Hamnet followed some gaudy-winged butter- 
flies with speculative eyes, as they darted across 
the green, sunlit spaces ; then his glance fell upon 
the open page before him, and rested there for a 
brief time. How dull it was ! After all, the true 
place to study lessons was within doors, away 
from the temptations of earth and sky — some 
place so tightly sealed that not one of the thou- 
sand, happy summer sounds could penetrate its 
way to its interior — and especially not those 
shrill whoops that came ever and anon from the 
meadows, where some boys were playing at 
prisoners' base. It was impossible to nail 
long Latin sentences into one's memory when 
there was so much else of real note to engross 
the attention, and when underneath all — like the 
undercurrent in the river — there pulsed the 
thought that father was coming home. Study ? 
The thing was unheard of. The boy tossed the 
book, with ruthless hands, high in the air, and 
laughed to see it fall ignominiously into the heart 
of the elder bush, startling some young birds 
from their nest. They whirred off to a safe dis- 
tance, and upbraided the disturber of their peace 
with feeble, remonstrant voices. 

" F faith, the Latin is no more to their taste 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 139 

than 'tis to mine own this day," he cried, with a 
hearty laugh. " I'll have none o' it — not I. 
Come, Silver, we'll away." 

He rolled over on his side, and made as if to 
fondle the dog's ears with his upstretched hands ; 
but Silver was burrowing in the bush after a new 
species of game. He turned, with the book in 
his mouth, and shook it again and again, worry- 
ing it as if it were some rat, until a shower of 
leaves lay on the grass about him, like the petals 
of a monstrous flower. 

" Out upon thee for a pestilential, destructive 
rogue ! " a voice cried sharply from the other 
side of the bush. " I'll teach thee, thou fat good- 
for-naught, what all the books couldn't learn 
thee — I'll thresh thee so thou'lt not soon forget 
this day's schooling." 

Hamnet sprang to his feet, his face — that had 
taken on a look of mingled dismay and fun at 
the mischief Silver had wrought — working with 
anger. At any other time he would have called 
out a laughing explanation ; but something in the 
unseen speaker's tones awakened all the unreason- 
ing furies in his breast. It was like the gunner's 
match to the trail of powder. 

" Thou'lt not lay a finger on my dog, Ned 
Shakespeare," he called, defiantly. " Thou'lt 
reckon wi' me first." 

" Ay, that I will, or first or last, it matters 



140 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

not," the voice replied, with an ironical laugh ; 
" but I'll not stand by and see property destroyed 
so wanton-like by that pampered beast, young 
Master Cockerel, were he thy dog or the Queen's." 

The speaker came around the bush and faced 
the raging lad. He was a tall, fresh-coloured 
youth, with something of arrogance in his bear- 
ing at that moment. Silver moved hastily out 
of reach of the strong, lithe arms. 

" Thou'lt not touch my dog," the boy repeated ; 
" an thou dost, thou'lt rue it to the longest day 
o' thy life. Besides, he deserveth no punish- 
ment; 'twas I that threw the book, and so set 
him on." 

" Marry, I'll learn him, then, not to follow 
thy behests," Edmund said, with flashing eyes, 
angered beyond control by his nephew's tones. 
He made a lunge forward, as he spoke, and 
cuffed Silver smartly on the ear. 

" An thou knowest not the worth o' books, it 
shall be brought home to thee," he muttered. 

" Thou'rt but a sorry hand to do that," Hamnet 
sneered, white with rage; "'tis not overmuch 
thou canst tell us about the worth o' a book, espe- 
cially an it be the inside." 

" How ! " cried Edmund, hotly. " Art ready 
wi' thy jibes? Dost dare outface me, thou little 
braggart ? An thou wert near my size, I'd pound 
thee into mince-meat." 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 141 

" Size or no size," Hamnet flung back, " I'll 
fight thee. I'm not afeard o' thy brawny fist, 
Ned Shakespeare. An thou'dst lift it against a 
poor, innocent beast, thou'rt no better than a 
swasher, anyway. Thou'dst not wait for one o' 
thy inches to fight thee — 'tis but an excuse." 

" Nay, then, I'll take no eggs for money," Ed- 
mund answered, with a darkening brow. " An 
thou outmatchest me with thy learning, Sir 
Knowall, and thy quick tongue, my hands shall 
still do me some service." 

He advanced threateningly upon the boy, but 
Silver, with a low growl like distant thunder, 
rushed between the unequal combatants. The 
hair on his glistening back stood stiffly erect, 
his tail was straight from his body, and his eyes 
were like lightning in their vivid gleam. 

" Down, sir, down ! " Hamnet cried. " 'Tis not 
thy quarrel. Thou art my very own, and I'll 
pay back with interest the blow thou hast received 
— trust me for that. Thou wouldst not turn on 
thy foe when he did strike thee, for that he 
beareth a name we both do love, though he is all 
unworthy o' it; but thou'lt not see me hurt, 
brave heart, brave Silver. Be off, sirrah ! " 

Ned's face flushed. 

" Nay, keep thy safeguard, little one," he 
answered, bitterly. " Thou dost valiantly to taunt 
a man when he's by. I'll fight thee not. I'd 



142 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

fight thee not at any time ; thou'rt too low for 
fighting, wi' thy taunts. Thou'rt safe ; but 'tis 
not for thy sake, thou little, puny, woman-decked 
thing, but for thy father, who is dear to me." 

" Bring not my father's name into this quarrel," 
Hamnet cried, beside himself with anger ; " and 
get thee hence, Silver — begone, begone " 

He stamped his foot furiously until his cham- 
pion, with his tail hanging dejectedly between his 
legs, had retreated to the house ; then he turned 
again on his adversary. 

" So now I have no protector save only these," 
he said, with a long-drawn breath as he looked 
down at his clinched fists ; " but thou shalt feel 
them, I trow." 

He made a rush forward as he spoke to deliver 
the blow, but Ned caught the small bare arm in 
its flowing white sleeve just above the wrist and 
held it between his iron-like fingers as in a vise. 
After a moment he let it drop with a short laugh. 
The boy fell back only to gather fresh strength 
before he came whirling on again. Ned stood 
unmoved by the renewed attack, like some great 
rock against which the little waves beat in vain. 
He caught his assailant about the middle and held 
him at arm's length away from the ground. 

" I'll not fight wi' thee, little lad," he said, 
contemptuously ; " there's a shaking, sirrah, for 
thy saucy tongue, and here's another to mend thy 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 143 

manners withal — that's the treatment thou merit- 
est. I am no scholard, i' faith, but I yet know 
what's meet for such as thee. And so good-day, 
my young bull-calf." 

He relinquished his hold, and the boy, dizzy 
from the rough handling he had received, reeled a 
few steps and caught at a tree to keep from falling, 
while Ned, as though he were not concerned in 
the matter, turned on his heel and strode away 
whistling ' Green Sleeves ' merrily, his handsome, 
careless face carried a degree higher than was his 
custom. 

Hamnet looked after him impotently, clinching 
and unclinching those useless fists of his. Every- 
thing was in a whirl about him. He took a step 
forward. His ears were full of that gay, rip- 
pling music that grew fainter with every passing 
moment. It was like a goad to his soul. 

" Nay, then, I hate thee, Ned Shakespeare," 
he cried, in a fury — " hate thee, hate thee, and I'll 
be even wi' thee for this some day, if I needs 
must wait till the end o' time or go to Terra 
Florida to find thee." 

He flung his defiance out mightily, and for 
answer there came back to him the sweet lilt of 
the tune from the ever-growing distance — a mere 
thread of a sound, like the ghost of an echo — and, 
near at hand, the glad song of a bird overhead in 
the boughs of the apple-tree and the murmurs of 



144 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

the bees about the hollyhocks a-row by the 
garden wall. 

He remained motionless for some minutes, his 
quivering face turned in the direction whence that 
gay music had come, deaf to the other sounds about 
him, and blind, too, to the fairness of his surround- 
ings, which never before had appealed in vain to his 
loving eyes. The whole world seemed dark to him. 
At last, with his chest still heaving with passion, he 
threw himself upon the ground near the mutilated 
Cato, which had been the cause of the outbreak — 
though only the slightest of causes, as he knew full 
well. Ned's wrath at the sight of the torn book 
might have been easily diverted. One little 
word of explanation uttered in the right tone and 
the youth, who had no love for musty Latin, 
would have been the last to chide Silver for his 
misdemeanor, but to defy, to threaten, when the 
right was so manifestly on the elder's side, made 
the explanation, when it did come, of slight mo- 
ment, and the later taunt nailed the injury fast. 

Deep in his heart Hamnet was conscious that 
the real reason of the quarrel lay in his own bitter 
jealousy of Ned's good fortune, that and nothing 
else, and his face flamed scarlet as the remem- 
brance of the jibe he had let fall flashed into his 
mind. He moved restlessly. 

But surely what Ned had said was unpardonable 
— ' too low for fighting,' ' little puny thing/ and 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 145 

'woman-decked.' He dragged at the embroid- 
ered collar of his shirt in sudden fury. Why 
need his every-day shirts be stitched with gay- 
coloured threads ? Not another boy in school wore 
such womanish gear. He hated — hated it ! Must 
he be flouted for that and for all the foolish fond- 
nesses those about him chose to bestow ? He saw 
everything through his blind, unreasoning anger. 
And 'little lad ! ' Of a truth, the taunting had not 
been all on one side. Little — little, forsooth ? That 
was something he'd mend with the years — those 
slow, slow years. 

He struggled into a sitting position and rolled 
up his shirt-sleeve, which was open to the elbow, 
with a swift motion ; then he balled his fist quickly, 
bringing it up to his chest, and looked down with 
eager eyes at the slight swelling of the muscle 
under the smooth skin of his upper arm. He 
pulled down the sleeve hastily, with a gulping 
sound in his throat. His skin was as white as 
a girl's, only the forearm was respectable and 
brown, like other boys'. Little — puny ! Nay, Ned 
should eat those words some day. And what he 
had done to Silver was even more unpardonable. 

Hamnet felt on the moment something moist 

and soft against his cheek. It was like the gentle 

touch of a snowflake, though they come not in 

the summer-time. He threw out his arm gladly 

and drew Silver close to his side. 
10 



146 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

M Now Heaven be praised, dear heart, thou'rt 
come again," he murmured fondly, caressing the 
dog with tender hands the while ; " thou wouldst 
not see me harmed ; thou wouldst fight for me — ■ 
I that am too puny, they say, and too low for 
fighting — I that cannot even serve thee with these 
poor fists o' mine." 

An angry rush of tears blinded his eyes to the 
love in the dumb, uplifted gaze. 

" In truth thou art my only friend," he went on, 
working himself up into the belief that all the 
world was set against him, and taking a mournful 
pleasure in the loneliness of the position which 
he thus conjured for himself — " my only friend ; 
and thou wouldst serve me, too, so that Ned would 
jeer no longer at me. But I'll none o' thine aid ; 
I'll fight him yet till that he bites the dust." 

A trifle mollified by these threats, Hamnet 
came back gradually to a realization of his sur- 
roundings. The world was still a dreary place to 
him, though little by little a hint of its real fair- 
ness was creeping over him and stilling those 
thoughts of revenge in his breast. 

He had ever been above petty meannesses, and 
though his fists were ready at any time to serve 
a friend or one who was weak, he quarrelled but 
seldom on his own account. For all that he was 
a true boy, as full of mischief as an egg is of meat 
— one who was willing to play truant when the 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 147 

fish leaped in the stream, or there were fruits or 
nuts to gather ; quick, too, at sport of any kind, 
and ever foremost in the pranks at the school- 
master's expense. But he had no love for under- 
hand dealings ; what was fair and open to the day 
appealed most to his taste; and yet the only way 
he might reach Edmund was by those very means. 
His face darkened. Well, why not? he argued 
to himself ; they were surely fair if one were the 
smaller. A throng of suggestions surged into his 
mind. He had only a few days in which to com- 
pass his vengeance. But at that thought some 
other, springing up in its train, made the boy 
suddenly lower his head. Only a few days ! He 
kicked at a toadstool impatiently, and his foot 
came in contact with one of the scattered pages ; 
the rustle was like a little sigh. He sat up then 
and began to whistle, while Silver, with a joyful 
bark, sprang to his feet ; he had hardly recognized 
his master in the sullen, brooding lad. 

" Thou art a very mad-cap," the boy cried, 
11 and this is all thy work. Nay, I'll chide thee 
not," he went on, as he crawled on his knees over 
to the fallen book and began to pick up its torn 
leaves, at which Silver, undismayed by any seri- 
ous reflections, frisked about in unrighteous de- 
light at the memory of his deed. 

"Marry, 'tis a small jest, to my way o' think- 
ing," Hamnet remonstrated, though the light was 



148 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

coming back to his eyes, " a sorry jest. But there ! 
mine is the blame, and a stitch or two will put 
all right again. And as for the back — why, 'twas 
broke long since, as mine will be on the morrow, 
I trow." 

He stopped in the midst of the sentence to 
laugh heartily. 

"Nay, I could not get my lesson memoriter — 
'twas too much to ask. On a half-holiday, too ! 
An I had not tried, this never would have 
happed. I should have been off wi' Tom and 
Frank, an I'd been wise." 

He got up a little soberly and walked slowly 
to the house, with Silver bringing up the rear, 
tail and ears hanging dejectedly again — their 
owner quite unequal to the task of comprehend- 
ing his master's varying moods. 

Meanwhile the boy was hoping that he would 
find his grandmother within ; the book must be 
mended before the morrow, and hers were the 
safest hands to have the charge of it. He knew 
how his mother would cry, at first sight of the 
wreck, that Silver was an arrant villain, and even 
when he told her that he — Hamnet — was alone 
to blame, she would still chide and chide again, 
and frown at Silver, though in the end she would 
sew the book right fairly. But his grandmother 
would be different. First she would hear what 
he had to say from beginning to end without a 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 149 

word on her part, working all the time at her 
task with such brave stitches ; then, when he had 
ceased speaking, she would say something — oh ! 
just something short, and always with a little 
smile. He did not think she'd be over-angry, and 
there would be no sharp word for Silver — that 
he knew quite well ; he could even imagine her 
laughing, though gravely too, for she loved not 
to see books mishandled. 

But if he told her one portion of the story, how 
could he keep back the rest? Those keen eyes 
of hers had such a way of seeing the very heart of 
things. Nay, then, he hoped she would not be 
there ; he was not minded to tell aught of the 
quarrel ; that was between him and Ned, and 
women would not understand. There was no 
fear that Ned would say a word concerning it — 
and like as not he'd clean forgot it by this time. 
He'd such a sunny heart he seldom kept an 
affront long. Even in his anger against his uncle 
Hamnet was generous enough to admit that 
much, though he felt a bitter twinge of resent- 
ment at the idea that his wrath should seem of 
such slight moment to the youth. 

The house-door, leading into the garden, was 
set wide, but there was no one in the little snug- 
gery at one side of the small entry, nor in the 
large living-room. Hamnet peered in cautiously 
before he entered with noiseless steps. Every- 



1 S° Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

thing was very quiet, save for the bird in the wil- 
low cage, which chirped blithely as it turned its 
little sharp eyes upon the new-comers. 

On the settle was Susanna's work-basket with 
a bit of white cambric, in which her needle was 
quilted, lying across the top. One of the cush- 
ions had fallen upon the floor, thus disclosing a 
book, as if Mistress Sue had been reading be- 
tween her stitches. Hamnet knew the cover at a 
glance ; 'twas the ' Book of Merry Riddles,' and 
no doubt Susanna was getting some off by heart 
against their father's coming. Push ! as if their 
father had forgot the Book of Riddles. 

Not far from the settle Mistress Anne Shake- 
speare's lute lay across a chair, and a little stool 
in front of it told the boy more plainly than any 
words could have done that Judith had been 
picking out the music of different songs. Her 
work lay in a careless heap on the ground, where 
she had dropped it when she had been summoned 
away. He picked it up half-curiously. If the 
needle were a big one he saw not why it should 
not serve him. Sewing, marry, looked easy 
enough ; 'twas just to put in and draw out again, 
and he would trouble no one to help him, since 
they all kept aloof from him that day. The 
needle, however, was not to be found, and what 
thread there was was in a sad snarl. Judith had 
been setting a little vine-like trimming about the 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 151 

handkercher, for such it was. It was a goodly 
sized napkin, too, such as a man might carry. 
Hamnet laid it down with a sigh. 'Twas Jude's 
first grown-up work. But there ! 'twas not for 
him ; his handkerchers were smaller ; like as not 
'twas for father, or for — pshaw ! what had put 
Ned in his thoughts? 

He went over to Susanna's work and made as 
if to take out the needle, then he half drew back 
his hand in the fear that he might pull the thread 
and so mar all. What beauteous stitches Sue 
took ! He did not know the name of a quarter of 
them, but these were fair enough to have been 
made with the fine point of a painter's brush. 
And blue, too — he liked blue best. 'Twas a brave, 
brave collar, and Sue was a sweet wench to make 
it for him. He paused with it in his grasp ; then, 
casting a wary glance around, he drew it about 
his throat. Twas world's too wide ! He pulled 
it off quickly, and the needle pricked his finger, 
causing a tiny drop of blood to stain the spotless 
fabric. He inspected it ruefully for a moment. 
A brave collar surely, and not for him, and too 
gay for grandfather. 'Twould look passing well 
on father — or — or — Ned. Hamnet dropped the 
work in a fury ; he had Ned on the brain that 
day. 

It was very still all about him, but from the 
floor above there came the occasional sounds of 



152 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

footsteps, and someone was singing fitful snatches 
of song. Hamnet walked over to the narrow 
flight of stairs and went up a few steps, pausing 
then to listen. It was Judith's voice half-chant- 
ing a verse of ' Constant Susanna ' : 

" ■ There dwelt a man in Babylon, 
Of reputation great by fa-ame, 
He took to wife a fair woman, 

Susanna she was called by na-ame.' " 

The girl broke off suddenly and was silent for 
a few moments, then she resumed the song as if 
there had been no interruption : 

" ' A woman fair and virtuous, 
La-dy — la-dy — 
Why should we not of her learn thus 
To live god-ly ? ' " 

"Jude," Hamnet called, as she finished with a 
laugh — " Jude, what dost thou ? " 

" I be up to my eyes in work, sweet ape." 

" I prithee come hither, I've summat to ask o' 
thee." 

There was a rush of flying steps, and the next 
instant Judith's rosy, laughing face appeared at 
the top of the stairs. 

" I may not go to Shottery," she cried, breath- 
lessly, " I may not out o' doors, I may not e'en 
budge from here. Sue and me are unpicking o' 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 153 

Neds murrey coloured doublet to have it ready 
against his going. Go away. Buz ! " 

Hamnet's face clouded, but he stood his ground. 

" Where's my mother? " he demanded. 

" She hath gone to Mistress Sadler's for the 
rest o' the day, and she hath ta'en her stitchery 
wi' her. My godmother will show her a new 
stitch for Ned's shirt. Verily, my grandam saith 
we'll make him as fine as any Sir in London town ; 
they shall not think to flout a Stratford lad for 
country fashions." 

" Nay, Judith, come back to thy work," Susan- 
na cried, impatiently ; " 'tis little enow thou hast 
done, what wi' thy hoppings about and thy songs. 
Leave Hamnet be, unless he's minded to help us 
unpick this ; he must not bring us out." 

Minded to unpick Ned's doublet ! Hamnet put 
up his hand to his throat as if he were choking. 
What ! make a girl of him at once and be done 
with it. The whole house seemed to go up and 
down before his eyes. Ned's doublet — Ned's 
shirt — that collar and handkercher in the other 
room were Ned's too — and what else ? 

" Where's gran? " he called, in a voice shaking 
with rage. 

" In the buttery, methinks," Susanna replied, 
calmly, " an she be not already gone to Aunt 
Joan's. She'd some ruffs o' Ned's to set and 
colour wi' starch before she went. Seek her there. 



154 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

But what hath come to thee, sweet boy ? Thy 
voice soundeth as if thou hadst a quack, or else 
thy mouth were full o' summat. Hast been in 
the store-room, sirrah ? " 

Hamnet did not wait to answer, but rushed 
headlong from the house, through the quiet 
garden, sleeping in the afternoon sunlight, out into 
Henley Street and away — he cared not whither. 
Nor did he notice that his trusty Silver loped as 
usual at his side. There seemed to be a thousand 
demons within him, lashing him with unseen 
whips on and on, their voices rising in a whirl of 
discord — a deafening tumult that filled his ears 
until they were on the verge of bursting. And 
* Ned — Ned — Ned — ' they cried. Turn where 
he would there was naught to be heard but that 
hateful sound. 



CHAPTER X 

The time of life is short ! 
To spend that shortness basely were too long, 
If life did ride upon a dial's point, 
Still ending at the arrival of an hour. 

Henry IV. (Part I.) 

But, 0, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through 
another man's eyes ! 

As You Like It. 

HAMNET sped along the Warwick road, 
soul-sick and tempest-tossed, a prey to his 
evil passions. He had been governed by 
no particular desire in making his selection — one 
road was as good as another to his thinking that 
day. He had but stumbled into this by the 
merest accident, though it was ever a favourite 
with him. He kept on doggedly with downcast 
eyes until, tired and panting, he halted at last for 
breath, and, like a person waking from a heavy 
slumber, glanced wonderingly around. 

He was about a mile from the town, and there 
on his left were the Welcombe Woods. Just be- 
yond them the Dingles — a belt of straggling ash 
and hawthorn, which went winding irregularly 

155 



156 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

through briery hollows and depths of vivid green 
where, earlier in the year, the blue-bells swung 
their tiny chimes — climbed from the footway 
below to the summit above, while immediately 
around rose the Welcombe Hills, from whose 
heights his father loved to look down upon the 
peaceful valley. The thought was like a cool 
hand laid on the boy's fevered brow, and for the 
moment those hideous voices were quiet in his 
breast. He pushed on over the familiar ground, 
thinking of the last time he had travelled it in his 
father's company, and recalling every detail with 
such loving exactitude that when he reached the 
crest of the hill it almost seemed as if that be- 
loved presence were by his side in very truth. 

He paused and looked back at the tranquil 
scene, at the orange and gold of the maturing 
fields, and the rich, deep greens of the bosky 
acres with their broom groves and hazel copses. 
Before him, right in the track of the homing sun, 
Stratford lay among her orchards and gardens, 
the thatched roofs of her cottages showing plain- 
ly, with here and there an occasional roof of tiles, 
to mark the habitations of the less conservative 
owners. Above them all the square tower of the 
Guild chapel stood sturdily aloft, and farther 
along the wooden spire of Trinity pierced the 
cloudless sky with its slender point. And that 
thread of molten light quivering now in this spot, 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 157 

now in that, was the Avon bearing its waters to 
the sea. Beyond the sweeping curves of the 
river lay the undulating valley of the Red Horse, 
shut in by the misty Cotswold Hills. 

The little lad drew in a deep breath of satisfac- 
tion at sight of so much loveliness, and some of 
the peace and quietness about him crept into 
his troubled breast. After a few minutes he 
threw himself down upon the ground, and Silver, 
who all this while had kept discreetly in the back- 
ground, came wriggling forward. Hamnet opened 
his arms wide, and the dog, with a joyful bark, 
crept close, nestling his head against the breast of 
his master's sleeveless jerkin. 

" How fair it is," the boy whispered dreamily 
into the attentive ears, forgetful at that moment 
of what had driven him hither. " My father doth 
well to love this place. He saith there is no fairer 
in all the world to him." 

He broke off with a sound in his throat that 
was half way between a sigh and a sob, and the 
old, bitter feelings surged afresh through his soul, 
sweeping away all the beauty of the summer land, 
as a current, breaking its bounds, submerges 
everything in its headlong course. 

No fairer in the world? Why, London was 
that, for any spot would be fairer if father were 
only by. The boy's heart was full of contradic- 
tory emotions. One moment he longed with all 



158 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

the ardour of his nature for his father's home- 
coming, the next, with a singular inconsistency, he 
wished as strenuously that that coming should be 
deferred. What did it mean ? What did those 
three days hold that he was willing to let them 
go ? The happiness of seeing his father again, of 
hearing the deep, gentle voice, of meeting the 
smile in the tender eyes, of being with him con- 
stantly — was he content to relinquish all that 
wealth of joy because of the parting on the dark 
morning of the fourth day ? What did that 
fourth day mean, that he could let the pain of it 
rob him of the delight of the other days ? Was 
it only the dread of farewell that made him 
shiver, or was it that picture — that hateful pict- 
ure — of Ned's happy face turned Londonward 
that blackened everything? 

'Twas too much to bear ! The humiliation of 
being young, of being little, while his heart was 
as big as any man's with longing, hurt the child 
like the sting of a lash. And Ned? — Ned only 
five years his senior, riding off into that enchanted 
land by father's side. He gritted his teeth to- 
gether and clinched his small fists at the mere 
thought. How could he stand by the road and 
wave good-by to that dear figure turning ever 
and anon in his saddle for a last look, while Ned 
turned, too, with glad shouts ? 

What pleasures that journey held! He had 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 159 

travelled it in his fancy times beyond number- 
ing. It almost seemed as if he knew every inch 
of the way and just how the land looked on 
either hand, for nothing had ever been too small 
for the father to note or to tell again and 
again to the attentive ears of the child. Now 
they had left Shipston behind and had crossed the 
Combe, where Long Compton straggled on both 
sides, and they had had a goodly glimpse of The 
Whispering Knights, clustered in a circle about 
their king, standing in stony silence under the 
spell of an enchantment centuries old. After 
which loitering, forward to Chipping Norton ! — 
there to halt for the night. Off the next day, 
riding through Enstone, Over-Kiddington, and 
Ditchley, past the walls of Woodstock Park, 
through Woodstock itself, and so by Bigbroke 
and Wolvercold into Oxford, to The Crown, in 
the Cornmarket, where they would lie the night. 
Away again in the early dawning, just as 
Charles's wain was fading from the sky on the 
third day's journey, travelling long miles over 
bad roads — through Whatleie, Thetisford, Stock- 
ingchurch, to East Wycombe, where they would 
halt again for a night's refreshment. A start be- 
times the next morning would bring them to Ux- 
bridge in the forenoon, and then there was a longish 
ride to London, which they would reach in the soft 
evening glow of the fourth day, travelling through 



160 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

the fields to the water-side, where, having left 
their horses at some inn, they would take boat 
for Southwark. 

The colour deepened in the boy's cheeks, and he 
forgot that he was there on Welcombe Hill, with 
Stratford lying before him, so real did the imag- 
inary journey seem. And in a little while now 
'twould be Ned's dole to see all those wondrous 
sights, hear all those wondrous sounds. 

At Southwark with father! Going with him, 
mayhap, at an early day to the old church whose 
walls were washed by the running river, and 
where, in ancient times, the fisherman's daughter 
used to row the folk over the ferry. 'Twould 
be like father to take Ned there and show him old 
Gower's monument, with the marvellous coloured 
figure lying on the tomb, and they would read 
the inscription together : ' Pour ta pitie Jesu 
regarde — ' Nay, then, he could not remember 
the rest of it, but that much was right he knew. 
And Ned would go to * The Bear Garden ' to see 
the sport there, and to * The Curtain,' and, better 
still, to ' Blackfriars,' and he would sup at the 
Tabard, or the Falcon, or some other ordinary. 
Marry, 'twould take more fingers than he had a 
hundred times over to count all those wonderful 
places that would be calling to the country 
youth: 'Come, see me! come, see me!' when- 
ever he took his walks abroad. 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 161 

Hamnet groaned aloud. Nay, he cared not so 
much that Ned should see those things, and that 
was true, i' faith. Ned was welcome to them ; he 
was welcome to all the sights in Christendom. 
What hurt the loving, jealous heart was that Ned 
should be admitted into a companionship from 
which he was debarred. The promise the little 
lad had made to young Mistress Rogers was for- 
gotten, swept from his mind as completely as the 
December winds clear the boughs of any cling- 
ing leaves. Not one word of his father's poesy, 
which he was to use as a charm to expel his bit- 
ter, grudging thoughts, came to him now. He 
rolled over and hid his face on Silver's firm side, 
and then, because he was only a little fellow after 
all, he gave vent to his feelings in a torrent of 
deep, tearing sobs. 

Silver tried in vain to touch with his tongue 

the bit of cheek left exposed, but no lovingest 

demonstration of sympathy that day could have 

penetrated through those evil passions that were 

piling themselves up into a mighty wall in the 

small heart. Jealousy, hatred, revenge — how fast 

they were building, until it almost seemed as if 

all that had made his world so fair would be lost 

sight of forever ! Only one thought in the midst 

of that enveloping darkness was clear to the lad's 

mind — the way to make Ned suffer! 

He'd listen to no plea for forgiveness. What! 
ii 



1 62 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

should he be outdone by a dog ? Silver, who had 
meekly suffered punishment for his own fault, 
had shown his teeth and had been ready in defence 
when his master was threatened. Should the 
master do less ? He was not fighting for his own 
injuries now, but for his friend's sake. Only — 
only — wicked and savage as the small heart was, 
the truth would out that in taking up the dog's 
cause he was secretly gratifying the grudge 
which had ever been as a thorn in his side. The 
idea of revenge was as sweet to his mind as the 
taste of any cates to his palate. 

After a little, the whirlwind of passion subsided 
somewhat, the tears which had made his cheeks 
burn with the sense of his utter childishness van- 
ished, and he lay quite still looking up at the seg- 
ment of sky which was revealed through the 
leafy branches overhead, a multitude of plans 
crowding in upon him. At last, utterly wearied 
and sore dismayed by his thick-coming fancies, 
he nestled closer against Silver and fell asleep. 

But even in his slumbers he found no relief 
from his evil thoughts ; the idea of punishing Ned 
pursued him incessantly. It sang itself again and 
again, like some curious lullaby. Now, with a 
burst of wild music like the clash of arms, he 
found himself on a vast heath accoutred in Sir 
Guy's famous armour, and up and down he strode 
calling upon his enemy to meet him in single 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 163 

combat. And suddenly Ned, in his simple coun- 
try dress, with no mightier weapons than his fists, 
faced him dauntlessly. And there was no fear in 
his eyes, but just a soft glance that made them 
like a certain pair of eyes the boy knew and 
loved best in all the world, and the great sword 
trembled in the upraised hand and turned to a 
wisp of straw — powerless, powerless. 

The lullaby went on. There was the faint 
swish-swish of the river amongst the grasses, and 
he was flying by in a boat which had wings and 
skimmed along the water like some great bird, so 
that it needed not his guidance. He sat idly in 
the stern and watched the familiar banks now 
closing toward each other as if to whisper some 
secret, now retreating and leaving a wide space 
between, like friends estranged. Here the water 
danced and sparkled in the sunlight, there it lay 
unruffled in the shade of the willows that bent 
low above its glassy surface to catch a peep at 
their hoar leaves. Then out he passed into the 
wide reaches again, with only sky above and 
something dark on the wind-rippled waves — Ned, 
in mid-stream, clinging with desperate hands to 
a plank to keep from sinking. On and on the 
boat flew, and now Ned had caught at its side, 
and his face was aglow with the hope of deliver- 
ance come at last. But the occupant of the boat 
bent forward and sought to detach those straining 



164 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

fingers ; he raised his oar to beat them back ; and 
then Ned's voice cried : ' Little lad ! ' not taunt- 
ingly, but tenderly, like unto another voice ; and 
the oar was flung aside, and the great bird of a 
boat bore two passengers safely home. 

Over and over again, through that troubled 
sleep, the same thoughts wove themselves in an 
unending chain — encounters with Ned in all the 
unlikeliest places of the earth, encounters where 
the dreamer was ever on the point of winning 
and in the end Ned won. But at last the lullaby 
slipped into sweeter strains. The rhythmic beat 
of a horse's hoofs coming along the London road, 
coming ever nearer! A cloud of dust whirled 
like powdered gold in the sunlight, and out of its 
midst there dashed the bravest figure the watch- 
er had ever seen. He ran forward, and now he 
was at the side of the horse, and now — now, the 
figure bending low, caught at his hand and drew 
him up. Ned ! Could he think of Ned at such a 
time ? With his father's arms about him and his 
father's cheek on his, could he think of Ned — hate 
Ned? 

Revenge and jealousy, which, even in his 
dreaming, had held him as their slave, sped away 
as the mists of the morning fall back before the 
freshness of wind and sun. The little lad stirred 
with a glad cry, half-awake ; then, reluctant to 
come back to this working-day world, he settled 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 165 

himself more comfortably, seeking to steep his 
drowsy senses again in the exquisite bliss of his 
latest dream. The quietness of his surroundings 
and the peace in his heart soothed him almost 
immediately into a deep, restful sleep. 

When he woke, an hour later, the sun had 
slipped away from the fields, and the shadows, that 
all through the afternoon had grown long and 
longer across the land, had merged into one great 
shadow. The air, as the day declined, had 
turned chilly, and from somewhere on the hill- 
side a bird lifted its shrill note ; otherwise, it 
was very still. Hamnet sat up and rubbed his 
eyes, half-bewildered as he gazed about him ; 
then gradually he recognized the familiar place. 
Of course 'twas Welcombe Hill, and he had been 
asleep, and on a holiday, too. But why ? He 
started nervously, memory touching him at every 
point. There was no need to ask the question a 
second time. Silver stretched himself with a 
noisy yawn and moved joyously about his mas- 
ter, who had fallen into a dejected mood again ; 
suddenly he paused in his friskings, and uttered 
a growl at the sight of two figures in the near 
distance. The boy turned his head at the repe- 
tition of the angry sound. 

" What ails thee, true heart ? " he demanded. 
" Marry, cannot a body pass on this hill without 
thy leave ? Who is it, sir ? Nay, I see as well 



1 66 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

as thou dost, and I cry thee pardon. 'Tis Die- 
con Hobday and his sworn brother Wat Caw- 
drey ; and thou lovest them not, I trow, nor do 
I neither. We'll not go home in their company, 
so get thee into yon bushes, and lie close. They 
have not spied us yet." 

Ham net crawled into the underbrush as he 
spoke, his hand on the rude leather strap which 
served for Silver's collar, and boy and dog 
crouched down behind the leafy screen. 

They had not been concealed for more than a 
minute or so before the two youths appeared. 
They were hardy, country striplings — the eldest, 
a thickset, muscular fellow, with a black-browed, 
scowling visage, and a trick of hanging his head 
as if the thoughts he carried in his noddle were 
unworthy for him to lift it to the gaze of honest 
men. His face, which was never comely at the 
best of times, was disfigured by a recent cut reach- 
ing the length of one cheek. He limped a good 
deal as he walked. 

" Beshrew me, I'll go no furder," he cried, com- 
ing to a standstill so near Silver that Hamnet 
had to put a hasty hand over his mouth to keep 
him from snapping at the gray hose within such 
tempting reach. " Perdition snatch that villain, 
say I ! He hath lamed me past cure ; but I'll 
make him limp yet, or my name's na Diccon Hob- 
day. I'll spoil his pretty steps so that my Lord 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 167 

Hunsdown i' London town will have small use 
for such a stumbling lout in 's company." 

"And I'll help thee, as sure as day," put in his 
friend, eagerly. " He broke my pate Rogation 
week, and he's in my books for more besides ; he 
said I cheated at shovel-board, and set the rest 
against me." 

" A pest upon him," the other interrupted. " He 
talks so big about London, and swells like any 
farmyard cock wi' pride o' Brother Will. Let 
Brother Will take him and keep him. I'd na 
weep my eyes out an he never cometh back to 
Stratford." 

There was a faint rustle in the bushes, as though 
the breeze was setting the leaves there in motion. 

" As if, forsooth, no other body here around 
can sing a song or dance a dance but just Ned 
Shakespeare," Diccon went on, sneeringly ; " and 
he will have it he'll play sometime before the 
Queen. Go to ! I'll lay a saxpence to nothing he 
never makes a leg before her." 

" Ay, but he says he will, and for aught we 
know he'll mend up old plays like 's brother and 
set 'em fair. He saith he is to help him in all that 
he doeth. Marry, Ned thinketh he's o' such im- 
port that Brother Will must needs come riding 
home top-speed to fetch him back to London." 

" Then I'll stay his going," Diccon thundered. 
" I'll stay him wi' these two hands an I have to 



1 68 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

budge the whole earth to do it. What ! shall 
we see him go riding off by 's brother's side as 
though he owned the world ? Nay, an thou'lt 
na help me I'll find those that will. I've a plan 
here that will set Ned Shakespeare where he 
ought to be." 

"I'll help thee," a shrill voice behind them 
cried — " I'll help thee. Back, Silver, lie down, 
sirrah ! " 



CHAPTER XI 

How should I be revenged ? If this be true- 
As 1 have such a heart that both my ears 
Must not in haste abuse — if it be true, 
How should I be revenged ? 

Cymbeline. 

Let's further think of this ; 
Weigh what convenience both of time and means 
May fit us to our shape. 

Hamlet. 

BOTH youths started apart as though the 
earth had opened at their feet, and whirled 
around only to see a slender little fellow 
with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes bending 
eagerly forward, holding a great hound in check. 
Diccon's face darkened as he took a step in the 
child's direction, his fist raised in menace. 

" Out upon thee, thou lily-livered patch," he 
cried. " I'll teach thee to listen to thy betters and 
hear what's na meant for thine ears and then go 
blab. I'll pound thee into dust an thou so much 
as breathest a word o' what we've said." 
" Nay, I be no tale-bearer," Hamnet answered, 

hotly, drawing himself up to his greatest height, 

169 



170 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

"and so let me pass. Thou need'st not be afeard 
I'll speak o' what I heard. I did but offer thee 
my service, and that in right good earnest, i' faith ; 
but an thou'lt have none o' it, go thine own ways 
and let me e'en go mine." 

" Thou'lt na stir an inch until it is my will," 
Diccon blustered, the scowl deepening between 
his heavy brows. " You Shakespeares be fine folks, 
forsooth — the one a braggart, the other a listener 
and a tattler." 

" I be neither o' those names," the little lad 
cried, with a choking voice ; " I'd not stoop to 
neither. 'Twas true I was in yon bushes. I hid 
me there when I did see thee coming, because I 
thought thou'dst pass right on and I'd tarry till 
after thy going." 

" Ho-ho," Diccon sneered ; " belike we're na 
fine enow company for one whose father's a play- 
actor i' London town and whose uncle will e'en 
be one." 

" Speak naught o' my father, else thou shalt 
have a taste o' Silver's teeth to match the beauty 
spot thou already hast." 

" Dost threaten me wi' thy cur? Beshrew thee, 
I'll shoot him where he standeth wi' my stone 
bow." 

" Nay, nay, peace, I pray thee," Wat Cawdrey 
interposed ; " the lad spoke us fair enow, Diccon, 
and was ready wi' 's help. Thou'lt mar all wi' thy 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 171 

black humours, and the quarrel is only wi' Ned 
Shakespeare anyway." 

" Why true — true," Diccon stammered, back- 
ing down from his high horse, the more because 
he feared the fierce gleam in Silver's unwavering 
eyes ; " I meant nowt by my words, lad. I be 
willing enow to speak thee softly and to take 
thine aid too as 'twas offered. Thou wert na coz- 
ening us?" 

" Marry," Hamnet returned, standing his ground 
firmly, " I meant it in very truth. I've a quarrel 
wi' Ned too. He — nay, 'tis betwixt us two, but 'tis 
a just quarrel. Only I cannot fight him because 
I be not his size and he'll have naught to do wi* 
me. And I cannot wait till I'm a man ; 'tis so long 
till then — so very long." His voice broke a little 
and he paused to steady it. 

" But I'll not let him go hence still flouting 
me," he continued, with a dash of spirit. " An 
thou'lt not put me on the track o' getting the bet- 
ter o' him, I'll e'en work out a way in my own 
mind." 

" Why, that's my bully-rook ! " Diccon cried, 
slapping the boy on the shoulder; "and I'll find 
thee an hundred ways to get even wi' thine uncle 
— or one will serve. And thou need'st na give the 
wherefore o' thy quarrel ; keep thine own coun- 
sel. Marry, I wot thou hast just reason for na 
loving him." 



172 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

" Ay, that I have ! An thou knew'st it thou'dst 
say so too, as any would ; but at home, i' faith, 
they're all for Ned and his going to London town 
wi' father." 

A shrewd gleam passed over the lowering, 
watchful face, which only intensified its ugly char- 
acter, as the sun in its course lights some loath- 
some spot, and even as it brightens it shows but 
the more plainly its abominations. Diccon Hob- 
day was no fool. In a trice he had read the secret 
of the transparent little heart before him. Let the 
boy keep the cause of his quarrel said or unsaid ; 
it mattered not — here was the right string to play 
upon ! He glanced over at Wat Cawdrey with a 
quick wink of his small black eye. 

" A just reason," he said, thoughtfully, " a very 
just one. I doubt na that. I'll na seek it out, but 
I tell thee an I were in thy shoes I'd na like to see 
Master Ned put before me i' the matter o' going 
to London. Lord ! Lord ! how strange things 
come around. 'Twas only this very day I said to 
Wat when we were coming back from Warwick 
and were e'en speaking o' Ned's fair fortune — 
* Why,' says I, ' an what Master Schoolmaster 
saith be true, Hamnet Shakespeare is the better 
scholard o' the two lads, though he is na so old. 
'Tis a pity now,' quoth I, ' that he hath na a few 
more years to his count that he might be going 
away instead o' Ned.' So were we talking to- 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 173 

gether, him and me, when Ned and some o' his 
mates come along. We all drew up for a few 
words, and I wot na how it befell, but the thought 
o' thee was still in my mind, so I spoke right out 
and said : 

" ' 'Tis true then, thou wilt only keep the place 
for thy nephew.' 

" Whereat Ned was mightily wroth, and quoth 
he : ' I keep the place for no one ; I am to be to 
my brother as his own right hand.' 

" ' How ? ' said I, stung by his tone, for I had 
spoke him fair. * I leave it to all here : is't na a 
son's place to be his father's right hand ? ' 

" Then were they all loath to speak, but Wat — 
who hath ever a pretty love o' justice, and is as 
full o' courage as a tabour is o' sound — called out 
right boldly : ■ V faith, 'tis true.' 

" That angered Master Ned the more — so that 
he fumed and blustered, like any wench ready 
for the ducking-stool — and he said, stamping 
about : 

" ' There be sons and sons, just as there be 
brothers, and my Brother Will hath ever a sharp 
eye to what is best ; he knoweth that o' the two — 
his son or me — even an we were both o' one age, 
I'd serve his purpose more fully. He hath a 
pretty affection for the little lad ; but it is only a 
child, and weakly, too. My brother hath other 
plans for him, though his cake is mostly dough 



174 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

where the lad is concerned ; but wi' me now, he 
seeth 'tis in my buttons to rise and do him 
honour.' 

" And so Ned bragged on, wi' more about thee 
than I will na say, only it was worser than aught 
that went afore." 

Hamnet's legs trembled beneath him. He had 
not realized until that moment how really tired 
he was, nor did he understand the strange sen- 
sation of numbness that was creeping over him. 
He had caught a little chill while sleeping, no 
doubt. He sat down on the ground by Silver, 
and made a pretence of adjusting the collar, 
though his fingers shook with that new feeling 
of weariness that had taken possession of him. 
After a brief pause he looked up. 

" And this was — when ? " 

"An hour or so agone," Diccon answered. 
" Nay, I'll keep naught back. Dost see this hurt 
upon my cheek ? 'Tis thine uncle's mark, but I'll 
write me yet as fair an answer on 's own face. 
And he hath lamed me, too. Marry, this was the 
way o' it. There was more o' his boasting, and I 
could na stand it, but up and told him my mind. 
* I'll make the lad's cause mine own,' I said, ' as 
all honest men would do. An thou'rt na a cow- 
ard, meet me here and now.' With that, we 
stood off to fight, though I was na i' the trim 
and he was well-breathed. When we were about 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 175 

to begin, I wot na how it was, but my foot 
slipped, and down I went me full length. Where- 
upon did they all cry out — his friends and my 
good Wat — ' Stand off ! hit na a fallen man ! ' 
But Ned was on me in a moment, beating and 
kicking me mightily. The others made no move 
to drag him away — save only my sweet Wat, and 
him they overpowered and beat when they saw 
what my fine gentleman's will was. They follow 
him an he was something come down out o' the 
skies, and they would na cross him for worlds. 
So Ned kept up wi' 's pommelling, and I'd cry 
for no quarter — na I ! ' 'Tis thy day now, Ned 
Shakespeare,' methought, ' but the wheel will 
turn.' At last, when his fists would serve him 
no longer, he fell to rating me wi' his tongue, 
most shameful ; and when his breath did fail him, 
then went he off to sport him furder wi' his talk 
o' Brother Will and London. Say I na true, 
Wat ? " 

" Oh ! ay, ay," Wat stammered, lost in admira- 
tion of his friend's narrative powers ; " every 
word's gospel true." 

Hamnet sat quite motionless, staring before 
him with unseeing eyes, his hand still on Sil- 
ver's collar. He hoped they would not ex- 
pect him to speak ; he had no word to say — as 
yet. 

" So that's how matters stand wi' thy uncle and 



176 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

me," Diccon said, after the silence had grown 
unbearable to him. " 'Twas for thy sake I suf- 
fered, i' faith ; but he hath put an affront upon me 
that I'll na pardon. I'll pay him back yet. Wilt 
thou help me an thou canst? " 

" Ay," Hamnet answered, unflinchingly. " Tell 
me what I must do." 

" Nay, wilt thou swear it ? Come, thy hand ! " 

There was the faintest trace of hesitation on 
the little lad's part, then he took his right hand 
from Silver's trusty neck, and placed it in the 
grimy, outstretched palm. 

" So," he said, softly, " I swear it." 

Silver gave a low growl. 

" Have a care to that beast ! " Diccon exclaimed. 
" I mislike the way he eyes me." 

" He meaneth naught," Hamnet cried, hastily ; 
" he is as gentle as any lamb." Then, with a 
swiftness born of inspiration, for his heart was 
sick within him, and he longed for home, he 
added : " Belike he's thinking o' his supper ; we 
must away." 

" Nay, there's our plan first ; thou must na go 
yet. Woul't break thy word ? " 

Diccon turned a suspicious glance upon the 
small figure, with a sudden tightening of his 
fists and something like a snarl in his tones. 

Hamnet's face flushed. He was too low for 
fighting, too little to be trusted. How dared 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 177 

they treat him thus ? It was too bitter to be 
endured. 

" A Shakespeare hath never broke his word 
yet," he answered, proudly, " and I'll not be the 
first to do it, trust me. An what thou say'st is true 
* — and ye both say it is — I have less cause than 
ever to love mine uncle. But let that pass. An 
I loved him, I'd still see him punished for what 
he hath done ; so e'en tell me quickly o' thy plan, 
sith it waxeth late, and I must hasten home." 

" When doth thy father come? " 

Hamnet drew in his breath sharply. When ? — 
There was no need to hesitate. Had he not kept 
count of the lagging days on everything that 
came within his reach ? Was it not his last 
thought at night, as it was his first in the morn- 
ing ? He lowered his head. 

" Not to-morrow, but the next day." 

" A-Saturday, then. Thou'rt na cozening me ? 
Come, speak out bold." 

" On Saturday, sure." 

"And when goeth hence?" 

"On Tuesday morn." 

Silver stirred under the pressure of the small 
hand with a low whine of pain. 

" Humph ! " Diccon ejaculated. " Well, that 
suiteth my purpose as good as another. Marry, 
sweet Ned Shakespeare, I'll be ready for thee by 
then." 
12 



178 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

He sat looking before him for a few moments 
without speaking, while Wat Cawdrey regarded 
him in open-mouthed delight, and Hamnet re- 
tained his position, stroking Silver softly, his 
heart like a heavy weight in his breast. Some- 
how, he did not even care to hear how Ned 
should be punished. He had no wish to think 
of Ned, for back of his sunny, handsome face 
he could see that other face, that would be set 
Londonward o' Tuesday morn, grown suddenly 
graver than its wont. 

" O' Tuesday," Diccon said, speculatively, his 
voice breaking in upon the little lad's musings 
and dispelling them roughly, though he was not 
sorry to let them go. " O' Tuesday be it ! But 
before then there cometh Monday night, and 
I'll give thine uncle reason to remember that 
the longest." 

Hamnet shuddered despite himself at the ha- 
tred in the threatening tones. It seemed to him 
that he was in some sort of a trap that with every 
passing moment narrowed more closely about 
him. There was no possible way of escape. 

" What wilt thou do ? " he questioned, faintly, 
" Marry, I must know." 

" And so thou shalt, my jolly bawcock ; take 
heart ! Trust all to me ; thy cause is in my hands. 
O' Monday night, after curfew hath struck, thou 
must find the chance to give a message to thine 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 179 

uncle, but thou must so manage it that he'll na 
suspicion us. Belike 'twill be better coming in 
the form o' a letter; thou art clerkly, and can 
write it in a hand he will na know. But more o* 
that anon ; there may be a letter, or no letter, as I 
shall devise. 'Twill only be a few words at best 
— meet an old friend, and the place named, or 
something o' that sort. And when once thou 
hast given it, thou may'st get thee to bed wi' a 
light heart, and in the morning thy father will 
ride forth alone." 

" But Ned ? " Hamnet whispered ; " thou wilt 
not kill him?" 

" Beshrew thee ! who talks o' killing ? " Diccon 
growled. " An I hear thee say that word again 
I'll brain thee on the spot. I be no murderer ; I'll 
but give Ned Shakespeare his quittance for this 
debt, and there's an end." 

" But thou wilt despitefully handle him," the 
little lad continued, unabashed, " and I would not 
have that happen ' 

"Thou wouldst na have that happen?" Diccon 
sneered. " And what is thy lordship's will ? 
Shall we treat Master Ned to sweet words, and 
give him cakes and honey ? By my troth ! thou 
mind'st me o' the cat i' the adage, that would have 
fish and would na wet her feet getting it. Thou'rt 
bold and thou'rt na bold. Thou wouldst see 
thine uncle punished, and anon thou criest at the 



180 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

mere notion o' his hurts, like a girl that's pricked 
her finger. 'Tis scant thought he'll give to thy 
feelings, once he's away wi' thy father, and why 
should'st thou think o' him ? " 

" I think not o' him," Hamnet retorted ; " go on 
wi' thy plan." 

"I know thou'rt to be trusted, little Shake- 
speare," Diccon resumed, " though most fellows 
o' my age would keep their own counsel, and use 
thee but as their servant. But that's na Diccon 
Hobday's way, which is ever a fair and honest 
way, and 'tis in great part thy quarrel too. Well, 
here's the very simpleness o' my scheme : Thou 
givest thine uncle word to meet a friend for one 
last parting. So he cometh him to the spot where 
Wat and me be waiting i' the dark, wi' mayhap 
another tall fellow or two, and we rush out and 
overcome Master Ned and bind him fast, and bear 
him away down stream to a little hut I wot of i' 
the fields, and there we'll leave him. Is't not a 
fair jest ? And when he waketh, belike 'twill be 
the next night, or betimes o' Wednesday morn, 
and he'll be summat sore from the drubbing he's 
had. But what o' that? Many a lad at school 
getteth a stiffer threshing for an unlearnt lesson. 
When my fine gentleman starteth for home thy 
father will be well on his journey, and Ned must 
tarry, forsooth, till he cometh again. La, Strat- 
ford 'ull be but a sorry place wi' one's thoughts 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 181 

all for London ; but beggars may na be choosers, 
and thine uncle will have a tamer tongue in 's 
head, I warrant me, after this dose. So thou wilt 
be avenged for thy quarrel, whate'er it may be. 
I' faith, thy father will be wroth, and will set Ned 
down as a promise-breaker and a carouser, and so 
belike someone will never go to London, after 
all." 

" But that will not be true," Hamnet interrupted. 
" 'Twould not be right for my father to hold such 
thoughts ; I could not " 

It was the last flare of the candle of righteous- 
ness, the last assertion his conscience made against 
the network of evil that was binding him fast. 

Diccon sprang to his feet with a loud impreca- 
tion, and the small lad would have suffered griev- 
ous harm at his hand had not the watchful dog 
leaped suddenly forward as his champion. 

" 'Tis too late for thee to say what thou could'st 
na do," Diccon cried, keeping a great control 
over himself ; " 'tis only now what thou canst. 
Think on that ! Thou hast sworn to help us, and 
I'll e'en give thee a thought to spur thy craven 
spirit on. An I'd no stomach for this fight, 
'twould keep me from faltering just to remem- 
ber how Ned hath meant — ay, and still meaneth — 
to cozen thee from thy father's love. I did na 
tell thee a tithe o' what he said ; I kept it back 
from sheerest pity. 'Twould poison thy life to 



1 82 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

the longest day o' it, an thou should'st come to 
Gaffer Castrell's age, could'st thou but know." 

" I'll not know, I'll hear no further word," 
Hamnet gasped, with something like a sob, half 
of grief, half of anger, choking his utterance. 
" I'll do whate'er thou wilt, and thou may'st do 
what thou wilt wi' Ned, only let me " 

" Ay, ay, my little chuck, I'll say a word for 
thee," Wat Cawdrey chimed in readily. " What 
sayest thou, Diccon, to letting the lad in at the 
pommelling ? 'Twould do his heart good to hit 
at Ned when he's sprawling." 

" Think'st thou so, Wat Cawdrey ? " Hamnet 
cried, contemptuously. " Marry, I give Heaven 
thanks that no two persons in this world be alike. 
I'd not hit my greatest foe under another man's 
arm — I be not such an arrant coward as that." 

" An thou talk'st o' cowards," the other splut- 
tered. 

"Peace, peace," Diccon interposed. "What! 
shall there be falling out betwixt sworn brothers ? 
Take hands, take hands, I say. So ! Now thou 
may'st get thee to thy home, boy, and fail na to 
meet me to-morrow at cock-shut time at the elm 
at the Dove-house Close. And for a nay-word — 
H'm ! let's see. What the dickens shall it be ? 
By the mass, I have it — it shall be ' London and 
father ! ' Dost hear, little one? Say it after me." 

Hamnet raised his head and looked straight 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 183 

into the evil face before him, his own pure, little 
face flushed but resolute with a strange, fixed 
expression. 

" London," he said, bravely, " London and — and 
father ! I'll not forget." 



M 



CHAPTER XII 

A hundred thousand welcomes ! I could weep 
And I could laugh, I am light and heavy. Welcome ! 

CORIOLANUS. 

Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, 
His honour and the greatness of his name 
Shall be. 

Henry VIII. 

ASTER WILL SHAKESPEARE, turn- 

ing into Henley Street from the Swan, 

where he had left his fellow-travellers, felt 

a great thrill of satisfaction as he caught the first 

glimpse of the home of his birth set in its fair 

garden. He took off his velvet bonnet with its 

curling feather, and waved it as gayly as any boy 

let out for a half-holiday waves his cap in mid -air, 

while the shout that issued from his happy throat 

was a right goodly imitation, surely, of the shouts 

of his youth. If he had known a bitter pang of 

disappointment because no slender, little figure 

waited by the road-side as he came riding over 

familiar ground and searched each bush and tree 

with eager eyes, expecting to hear the glad cry 

* Father ! ' at every moment, that disappointment 

184 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 185 

was speedily swallowed up in the delight of see- 
ing near at hand the sight his heart most longed 
for. 

They were all there by the house-door, or 
darting out into the lane — his father, mother, 
wife, daughters, and the little lad — him the ardent 
glance sought out first and last. Not ill, now 
God be praised ! as he had almost feared when 
he passed along the home stretch and no laugh- 
ing challenge bade him stay his horse. Not ill — 
and yet the anxious eyes saw an indescribable 
difference in the upraised face, which was too 
faint to be called a change, and which those about 
the boy had failed to perceive. On the moment 
it cast a shadow upon the man's heart, darkening 
it, even as the sudden shifting of a cloud across 
the sun will chase the warmth and brightness 
from the landscape. 

He gave a little shiver, as if some coming evil 
had already assumed tangible shape. The feel- 
ing which had dominated his breast for so long 
filled him with a vague apprehension. At any 
time that which he prized most dear might be 
swept from him. The very sense of possession 
was full of a pathos too deep for words. To 
have, to hold — nay, what availed his feeble 
strength ? The thought was ' as a death, which 
cannot chose but weep to have that which it 
fears to lose.' Was it only in his fancy, he asked 



1 86 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

himself, that the delicate face had grown thinner 
and paler ? 

"Art not well, sweet heart? " he demanded, as 
he leaped to the ground and caught the lad in his 
arms, holding him at a little distance and scan- 
ning his features uneasily. 

"La, Will," Mistress Anne Shakespeare laughed, 
" I do protest thou art as full o' whimseys as an 
old goody. Methinks the child is in fair health ; 
he's grown taller sith thou wert here, and belike 
he's summat slimmer ; but, go to ! he hath a par- 
lous appetite, and that I know full well. Speak 
up, sirrah ; thou art not sick ? " 

" Not so, dear Mother ; naught aileth me." 

" Ay, forsooth, the lad is right," Mistress Mary 
Shakespeare said, in her reassuring way ; " 'tis 
only thy fancy, sweet son — and thy fear," she 
added, in a lower tone, with a little catch in her 
breath like a sob ; " nay, I see with thine eyes 
sometimes, and I understand. But 'tis pure 
fancy now," she continued, briskly, and her voice, 
even in its gentleness, made one think of the stir- 
ring of the breeze which dispels the clouds and 
drives them relentlessly across the sky to leave 
the blue unmarred. " And Nan's not wrong 
about the appetite neither; there's scant falling 
off there. I do bethink me, an he seemeth pale 
to thee, that it is for some cause which is not far 
to seek. The lad's slumbers have been broke o' 




Art not well, sweet heart?" he demanded. 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 187 

late. Am I not right, boy ? Thou need'st not 
to hang thy head, dear wag ; I know the trick 
thou hast o' dreaming wi' open eyes. I know 
the little sums thou hast made on everything. 
Nay, the shopmen o' Middle Row keep not fair- 
er tallies o* their sales than thou hast kept o' 
thy hours, and thy minutes even, sith ever thou 
heard'st that someone was coming home from 
London town." 

" Ha, ha, sweet Mother ; is that the cause ? F 
faith, thou readest child-nature better than do 
the rest of us all put together. Well, lad, an 
thou knew'st so exactly when I should come, why 
didst not meet me beyond the bridge ? " 

Father and son had fallen a trifle behind the 
others, and at the question the little fellow raised 
his tortured eyes to the man's clear gaze. 

" I could not come," he answered, simply ; " I 
could not." 

" So," Will Shakespeare said, softly, with some- 
thing like pity in his tones ; for though he wist 
not what the trouble was, yet was he certain that 
it lay heavy on the small heart, and he longed to 
lift away the burden and make all bright again — 
"so, then thou must have had a strong reason to 
stay thy feet that have ever run to meet me — a 
strong reason." 

He waited a moment for the boy to speak, cast- 
ing a swift, downward look at the lowered face 



1 88 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

and the small brown hand that passed restlessly 
to and fro on Silver's head. 

A touch of bitterness stole over the man at the 
withholding of the childish confidence, and not 
for the first time did he long to bear the lad away 
and keep him always by his side, where he might 
share his innermost thoughts, and watch the un- 
folding of his nature. He had dreaded that, liv- 
ing, as he was obliged to, the greater portion of 
his time apart from his family, he would grow to 
be regarded by the little ones in the light of a 
stranger. And when he said ' little ones,' though 
his daughters were dear to him, he knew intui- 
tively that he meant the lad in whom all his 
brightest hopes were centred. Had his fear in 
a degree come true ? Was this strange diffidence 
on the part of the boy whose thoughts had ever 
been as open as the day just a beginning of the 
cooling of his love ? The questions were full of 
torment to the man's mind. He put them aside 
hastily, stung suddenly into the realization, by 
the greatness of his own affection, that the boy's 
love was no whit less deep than his, and could not 
fail him. He was still smarting from the sense of 
disappointment that had clouded his home-com- 
ing, and prone to magnify small causes into thrice 
their size. That was all. He was as foolish as 
any girl ! 

" An thou knew'st how I longed for thee, in 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 189 

very truth, thou wouldst have made shift to meet 
me," he said, with his tender smile, unconsciously 
planting a deeper barb in the little heart, which 
was almost bursting with the constant struggle 
between its love and its unworthiness. " But 
there ! I'll upbraid thee no more. Thou'lt never 
make me look in vain again — wilt thou, dear 
boy?" 

"Nay, never again" — the small hand ceased 
stroking the dog, and clasped its mate tightly over 
the man's arm — "never again." 

" A promise, and ratified thus ! There's small 
danger o' thy breaking it. When next I come 
from London thou'lt be on the lookout, surely." 

" Marry, yea, though I'll not tell thee where — 
'twould spoil half the surprise." 

" That would it ; but surprise me no more sur- 
prises o' this morning's sort. Ha ! Ned, is't thou ? 
Why, lad, thou look'st bravely — bravely." 

Hamnet fell back as the brothers embraced, the 
light in Ned's eyes darkening the sudden happi- 
ness in his own. Was it always to be like this ? 
Was Ned always to come between ? For a short 
time he had been able to put his uncle from his 
thoughts, but only for a short time. The load of 
guilt in the small heart which had made it im- 
possible for the child to meet his father, pressed 
more heavily than before. Had it not been pun- 
ishment enough, he asked himself, to relinquish 



190 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

that dear pleasure, that in these first moments of 
a nearer drawing together he should be spared 
the pain of Ned's coming to thrust them wide 
apart ? 

A hot flame leaped m the boy's breast, stirring 
the dormant anger there into fresh life. His rage 
toward Ned had died down in a degree, and in its 
stead he had found himself longing to retract his 
oath. What real reason had he, aside from his 
bitter jealousy and those cruel reports Diccon had 
spread, to thwart his uncle and to betray him ? 
Silver had long since granted forgiveness — a for- 
giveness which Hamnet, in his turn, was bound to 
accord when that night, as he hastened home from 
Welcombe Hill, Ned had overtaken him, and had 
made amends for his ill-doing of the earlier day. 

It was Ned, too, who had bound up Cato's 
wounds with dexterous fingers, and had given him 
a new back; even in Hamnet's half - grudging 
thanks there had been a note of admiration for 
the skilful work the amateur surgeon had accom- 
plished. Still, the promise, which was like a chain 
about him, kept him from any real friendship with 
his uncle, and when he found himself chafing 
against its bounds he nursed his evil feelings back 
to life by the repetition of Diccon's phrases and 
his vague, intolerable hints. 

Will Shakespeare turned suddenly from his 
brother's eager questions and looked around like 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 191 

one missing his chiefest good. A single glance at 
Hamnet's moody face was in itself a revelation to 
the man's mind, and a thrill of joy warmed his 
heart at the simple solution of the difficulty be- 
fore him, though with its coming he felt a stab of 
distress at the thought of the pain the child was 
suffering. He put out a fond hand. 

" Why didst leave me ? " he asked ; " know'st 
thou not that thy place is always here ? " 

He drew the boy's head against his breast as 
he spoke, and patted his cheek tenderly. 

" By my troth, thou hast grown most marvel- 
lous," he cried ; " nay, Ned, thou wilt have but 
a short deputyship, I'm thinking — the true prince 
will not tarry past his due time." 

Ned laughed good-humouredly. 

" Marry, that will he not," he said, " and glad 
I'll be, i' faith, heartily, when he cometh into his 
own, sith I know that that day is so dear to thy 
thought." 

Hamnet clung closer to his father, his eyes 
closed to keep back the stinging tears. How 
dared Ned speak so fair, he asked himself an- 
grily — how dared he, when he had said those other 
things ? Oh ! if it were only possible to tear the 
mask from his hateful, smiling face and expose 
him truly as he was. 

During the next few days the subtle change 
which had come over the child was ever present 



192 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

to the anxious parent, who, from the first moment 
of their reunion, had noticed its existence. It 
was not so much that the little lad looked ill, 
though there was a trace of languor discernible 
in his appearance, and his flushed cheeks and over- 
bright eyes were in some measure indicative of 
the excitement under which he was labouring, but 
in other way the observant eyes were conscious 
of an alteration. There was a restlessness about 
the boy that was far from natural ; he seemed to 
be living in a continual state of repression. He 
was full, too, of apprehension, and started like 
a timid girl at the least sound — the tapping of a 
branch at the window, or a low whistle, would 
cause him manifest uneasiness — and even his mer- 
riment had lost much of its usual ring. To his 
elders he maintained his customary courtesy, and 
his sisters, in his occasional fits of boisterousness, 
missed no whit of his generally high spirits; only 
the father, looking on with the growing pain at 
his heart, saw that something was sadly amiss. 
That it was connected with Edmund's going he 
was well aware, and he waited for some childish 
outburst of envy to clear away the surcharged 
feelings. 

But Hamnet's conduct toward his uncle was 
full of contradictions, as his father was not slow 
to recognize. It was made up largely of a regret 
that was something more than the regret occa- 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 193 

sioned by the prospect of absence, and the boy 
bore himself at the same time in an attitude of 
mingled resentment and affection. Often he 
would cast glances of anger and hatred at Ned's 
unconscious figure, which would be succeeded 
anon by looks so full of pain and sorrow as to 
sadden the watcher indescribably. 

The man was never one to disparage a child's 
trouble — it was as keen and big to the little mind 
as it would have been to his larger one ; keener 
and bigger, in sooth, for childhood has no philos- 
ophy whereby to dispel the darkness and show 
the way to a better adjustment of the burden Fate 
assigns, since borne it must be. He would have 
helped his boy in this present instance with his 
maturer wisdom, but he had too much respect for 
the sacredness of a child's feelings to strip them 
of their flimsy covering and make light of them 
in careless, grown-up wise. He would view their 
nakedness only at his son's bidding and then he 
would wrap them close in the mantle of his love 
— then, and not till then. Meanwhile, by a thou- 
sand indirect ways, he sought to make it easy for 
the little lad to approach him with his perplexity, 
and still the boy held aloof, not only spiritually 
but physically. 

Hamnet, on his part, realized speedily that the 
nearness of the old times was something that 
was not to be the centre and joy of this particular 
13 



194 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

visit. Another season, when he was more wor- 
thy, he told himself, he might linger by his father's 
side — now he dared not! Now he was almost 
glad to share that dear companionship with the 
others ; to go without those long, delightful talks 
of which he had dreamed for months. Nor was 
it only the thought of his unworthiness that 
whipped him from his father's society and made 
him an outsider. He was tormented by the con- 
stant fear that in some way he might betray his 
trust. He had boasted that no Shakespeare had 
ever held his word lightly, and the dread that now 
encompassed him was that by some chance he 
might imperil the whiteness of the name his father 
bore. Come what come might, he must be true 
to Diccon's hideous plan, since his oath was 
given. There was no alternative. So the little 
lad, with his vague notions of honour, argued, 
and so he fought out his battles unaided, while 
the tiny mist of misunderstanding rolled like a 
soft, impenetrable curtain between his father and 
himself. 

It was a slight matter, but a pebble in one's 
shoe will lame one as surely as a larger stone, and 
matters do not have to be of great import to give 
rise to misconceptions and consequent heartaches. 
Something huge and tangible may be overthrown 
with ease, when one is braced for the act, and 
leave a pleasant sense of exhilaration behind, but 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 195 

those little insidious things — too small almost for 
notice, and which yet send their roots into the 
very depths of one's being — are wellnigh invin- 
cible. 

The child's reserve in this respect was like a 
constant pricking in Will Shakespeare's side. It 
implied more — much more — than the mere with- 
holding of his confidence. Whatever he had 
hitherto known or thought had always been re- 
vealed, and, in the crucible of the man's great love, 
had been purified of all dross by an alchemy 
which, to the boy's thinking, was almost divine. 
But here was a trouble, which, for some reason, 
was not to be so dealt with. What aid the little 
lad received was to come from himself, or from 
some outsider, who, for the time being, stood 
nearer than his father. 

Will Shakespeare, with a touch of jealousy in 
his breast, cast about him to discover who had 
usurped his place. His quest was unavailing. 
There was no one who stood nearer, seemingly, 
nor did he miss aught from the child's adoring 
love. It was as patent to all as the sun in the 
heavens. It even appeared to have increased in 
volume, if that could be, though it possessed a new 
quality, half of humility, half of sorrow. There 
was often a questioning, pathetic look in the wide- 
set hazel eyes as they were turned upon the fa- 
ther's face — a dumb, grieved longing that found 



196 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

its counterpart in Silver's glance at times — which 
hurt the recipient as the keen thrust of a knife 
would have done. The frequent silences, too, 
which fell upon the merry tongue, and the wild 
bursts of extravagant mirth which succeeded 
them, were so unusual as to confirm the man's 
first belief in the lad's illness. And that subtle 
fear which had made the precariousness of life so 
insistent to him, thrilled him again and again. 

These, however, were the only shadows to cloud 
the brief home-stay. There was much of pleas- 
antness besides — gay talks with relatives and 
friends, walks a-field with a tail of loving, throng- 
ing children, delicious dreamings in the long after- 
glow, when the hush of night was creeping up 
over the peaceful land, lingerings by the tranquil 
river, with the children again — the little lad near- 
est of all leaning against his shoulder, and no 
thought of estrangement between their happy 
hearts. 

It was a busy season, too, and one full of deep 
satisfaction to gentle Will Shakespeare, whose 
thrift and industry had been mainly instrumental 
in bringing about its material advantages. There 
was much talk between the elders of the applica- 
tion which had just gone up to the Heralds' Col- 
lege for a grant of coat-armour, whereby John 
Shakespeare, then a yeoman, might attain the 
recognized position of a gentleman, and so enable 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 197 

his son, and his son's son after him, to take their 
places among the proudest of the country-side. 

The old man, steeped in the pathetic silence of 
age, grew garrulous once more. The possibility 
of this honour coming at the end of a career 
wherein he had known much of the adverse turn- 
ings of Fortune's wheel let loose the flood-gates 
of his speech, and he lived over the days when 
he had enjoyed high places in the town's gift, 
and had made his first application to the Her- 
alds for arms, a proceeding which his haughty 
neighbour at Charlecote had caused to be put 
one side. To no one did he open his heart more 
unreservedly than to his eldest son, who listened 
by the hour to the accounts of the sights the old 
man had seen, nor sought to belittle them by the 
wideness of his own experience. He was not 
without a feeling of pride himself at the realiza- 
tion of what was no mere empty honour to him — 
the making fairer of the name he loved ! 

It was at this time, too, that he took the whole 
family into his confidence, and told them in part 
of his dream of buying the ' Great House ' in 
Chapel Lane, and how, now that it was possible 
for him to accomplish his desire, he had already 
taken steps toward the purchase. A little cloud, 
for one moment, overspread Mistress Mary Shake- 
speare's brow; then her soft tones mingled in the 
general chorus of surprise and joy. She was 



198 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

proud and thankful and — yes, happy — even while 
the knowledge of what her own loss would be 
pressed heavily upon her. 

" The ( Great House ' is not so far away," she 
said, musingly, when the others had done speak- 
ing, and unconsciously she lifted the veil from 
her thoughts. 

" Not ' Great House ' to thee, sweet Mother," 
Will Shakespeare cried, hastily ; " I'll not have it 
so. "Tis but another home, and so thou must call 
it, where the doors will be ever set wide for thee 
and thine, and no guest more honoured than thou 
— nay, not even a queen, an she could stay beneath 
my poor roof." 

Hamnet jumped up from the settle, where he 
had been lounging by his father, and ran over to 
where the old woman sat, with her tender eyes 
smiling bravely at them all. He put his cheek 
against hers, in the pretty way he had. 

" Dear Grandam," he said, " 'tis truly hard by ; 
Chapel Lane is but a step away. Now, in good 
sooth, I mislike the name o' 'Great House,' too, ex- 
cept to say it over to the boys, and then it hath a 
fair sound — a monstrous fair sound. But 'twill not 
be dearer than this old place; no new place could 
be that, could it, Father?" 

" Nay, little lad, not dearer, and thou hast given 
it a name likelier to my fancy. An my dealings 
with Master Underhill fall not through — and I 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 199 

trow they will not — I'll call the house 'New 
Place,' e'en as thou hast said, so that it will re- 
member me o' this old house and all the happy 
days I've known herein. And now, I do bethink 
me, Sir Hugh so called it before ever we were 
born, and belike for the same reason — thinking o' 
his former home " 

" Well said, Will, well said," his father inter- 
posed, " and ' New Place ' is a good phrase, but me- 
thinks 'Great House' is still the better, and it 
hath been called thus always within my memory. 
I'd not meddle wi' the town's titles an I were i' 
thy shoes. How now, wife, is not William Shake- 
speare, o' Great House, Stratford, i' the County 
o' Warwick, Gentleman, a marvellous fine mouth- 
ful ? 'Tis excellent, i' faith, very singular good." 

But Will Shakespeare only laughed for answer, 
and his glance sought out his mother's face, while 
a swift look of understanding passed between the 
two, and then the woman knew that the little lad's 
words would stand for all time. 



CHAPTER XIII 

I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name. 

Measure for Measure. 

What we have we prize not to the worth 
Whiles we enjoy it ; but being lack'd and lost, 
Why, then we rack the value, then we find 
The virtue that possession would not show us 
Whiles it was ours. 

Much Ado About Nothing. 



W 



HEREisHamnet? Hillo,ho,ho,boy!" 
" He's not within, Will, nor hath not 



been this hour gone." 



" Hast sent him on any errand, then ? Marry, 
I spoke a holiday for the lad this morn o' purpose 
to keep him by me, and I've scarce laid eyes on 
him." 

" That hath not been his fault," Mistress Anne 
retorted with a laugh, as she set a stitch in her 
work and poised her head on one side, the better 
to regard it. " He hath been closer to thee than 
thy shadow sith cockcrow until a while back. 
But there hath been old work to-day with all the 
neighbours coming in for a word wi' thee. As 
'tis, my mother is e'en gone off sore vexed, for 



200 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 201 

that thou wert so taken up wi' Cousin Greene at 
the last, and had no talk wi' her. Thou'rt in her 
ill books now in very truth." 

" Say'st thou so? Then thou must e'en make 
peace betwixt us, sweet chuck ; and for the better 
furthering o' that purpose, devise something for 
me to fetch her when next I come hither." 

" La, now, I do protest — you men e'en think 
the surest way to win a woman's heart is by 
gauds." 

" Nay, Nan, we don't think — perdy ! we know. 
I'll wager this chain o' mine against a skein o* 
Coventry blue that thy good mother's anger will 
melt away like the snow in April at the first 
glimpse o' a trinket from London. But what 
keepeth the boy?" 

" By my troth, I wot not; he'll be here anon. 
Verily, thou'rt as impatient as any youth waiting 
for his love." 

" F faith, 'tis so," the man returned, with a 
hearty laugh ; " but methinks 'tis not like the little 
lad to leave me the last day o' my stay. I mar- 
vel, now — " He broke off hastily, and went to 
the door, stepping out under the pent-house and 
searching far and near with his eagle glance. 

At sight of him, Judith, who was standing in 
the lane with some other children, darted half 
shyly in his direction. He held out his hand, 
with his sunny smile. 



202 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

" Well, little wench," he cried, as he clasped 
her chubby fingers with a fond pressure, " thou'rt 
ready, and so am I ; but where is that laggard 
Hamnet — hast seen him ? " 

" He was even here, sweet Father, when Cousin 
Greene was within wi' thee, for he did us some 
handsprings, like the Jack-Pudding on May day ; 
but a big boy came by and called him aside. 'Twas 
Wat Cawdrey — a great lout o' a fellow — one I 
could never away with. Nay, I heard not what 
they said, they spoke so low ; only I could see 
that Hamnet was e'en loath to do Wat's will. 
But, there ! thou knowest how he cannot bear to 
ill-convenience anyone, so at the last he called 
out that he must be off for a time, and he said we 
must not tarry here for him — he'd overtake us or 
meet us at Cross-on-the-Hill." 

" So," Will Shakespeare laughed, shortly, " the 
king hath had his day. What think'st thou?" 

" Nay," stammered the little maid, " I wot not 
what those words mean. Methought there was no 
king, but that the Queen did queen it in 's stead." 

" Why, right ; thou'rt right, sweet duck, there 
is no king. 'Twas only I that had forgot." 

He looked down into the small, wondering 
face, a tender smile growing in his eyes. 

" F faith, bird," he went on, " thou'rt slow o' 
comprehension ; but, by the mass, 'tis better so — 
belike, thou'lt be saved many a heartache." 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 203 

" I cannot tell," Judith faltered ; " but I would 
not have the heartache — nor any ache, in good 
sooth — though my Grandam Hathaway saith 
there be cures for all troubles. She knoweth 
many goodly simples, and she hath a cramp-ring, 
besides ; so, an my heart acheth, I'll away to her. 
If ever thine dost ache, I'll get her to make it 
right for thee. Is't true, as Susanna saith, sweet 
Father, that the great people at Court take doses 
o' gold and pearls, to make their bodies well 
withal?" 

" Ay, that they do, little one. Susanna hath a 
sprack memory for what I say. Pulverized 
pearls, and powdered diamonds, and salt o' gold, 
they be considered great ' cure-alls ' by people o' 
quality — and there's coral, too, which some esteem 
the most potent o' all. But the Queen, herself, 
is chary o' physic-taking ; and well she may be, 
when such stuffs are prescribed. Nature is our 
best doctor." 

" The Queen is not over-brave," Judith hastened 
to say, so preoccupied in her own delight at talk- 
ing that she did not heed the expression of pain 
on her father's face. " Thou know'st the tale o' 
her toothache? What! thou shak'st thy head? 
La, now, I do protest I wish Hamnet were by — 
he's such a master hand at telling o' stories. 
But, an thou know'st it not, and would hear it, 
I'll e'en do my best, 



204 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

" Why once, ever so many years agone, the 
Queen had a grievous pain in her tooth so that 
she could get no sleep by night nor day, and all 
her great men were in a sore coil knowing not 
what to do to ease her o* it. And some folks did 
say — " Judith lowered her voice from the high 
pitch it had assumed in her excitement and looked 
cautiously around — " some folks did say she was 
suffering from black magic the wicked had used 
against her. Then the doctors quarrelled among 
themselves so that her lords were fain to send for 
an outlandish wise-man who had ever great skill 
in curing the toothache. But when he came 
from over-seas they would not let him in to see 
her Majesty, for that they feared he was a papist 
or a Jew. So he e'en writ out a letter all in Latin 
and he said he was unworthy to come after such 
wonderful doctors, still in his humble mind the 
tooth were best out — 'twas the quickest way o' 
o'ercoming the ill. 

" And the Queen, marry, would hear no word 
o' it, whereat all her great men got them down 
on their knees and beseeched her, but she'd not 
hearken to their prayers. Though the tooth did 
pain her, she wanted not to have it go, and be- 
sides, thou know'st, she was frightened o' the 
pulling, ay, truly, that she was ! Then up rose an 
old man — I wot not his name — and said the pull- 
ing would not hurt much, 'twould soon be over. 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 205 

And, quoth he : ' I have not many teeth left, but 
your Majesty shall see how easy 'tis after all to 
let one go.' Whereupon did he ope his mouth 
wide and he bade the master surgeon to pull wi' 
all his might. And so he did, and the old man 
never even said ' boo ! ' when the tooth came 
forth. Then the Queen took heart, and she e'en 
had her tooth out on the spot." Judith ended 
her recital with a long sigh. 

" That's all there is to the tale, good Father," 
she said, after a moment, " every word, but I wish 
I knew whether her Majesty cried or no. Dost 
think she did?" 

" Marry, sweetheart, I doubt it not. She hath 
lusty lungs, and belike she boxed the master sur- 
geon's ears for his pains and her own." 

" I am glad to hear thee say that, for Susanna 
will not have it that the Queen uttered a sound, 
and Hamnet saith, an she did, 'twas no more than 
the veriest squeak, for she'd not be outdone in 
bravery by one o' her own Court. But I feel sure 
she took on most mightily. Poor Madam Queen! 
An the great Sir cried not for the hurt o' his 
tooth, 'twould not make the parting wi' her own 
any easier to bear, and so I tell them." 

" Thou'rt wise after thine own fashion," laughed 
the man, pulling the child's ear gently, " as the 
others are after theirs. F faith, when all's said and 
done, we do but suffer our own pain, each man for 



206 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

himself, and how we bear it is but a question o' our 
natures. And which is best — who shall say — Sue's 
way, Hamnet's way, thine, mine, or the Queen's ? 
Though I cry her Majesty's pardon for naming 
o' her last. Now Heaven send thee much happi- 
ness, little maid, and scant cause for tears, say I ! 
Prithee, no more prattling, though thou hast di- 
verted me vastly, and I give thee thanks, but get 
thee in and tell thy mother and grandmother to 
lay aside their stitchery. They must e'en play the 
idle housewives with us this afternoon. Come, 
hasten, hasten, we'll away to Cross-on-the-Hill. I 
warrant me, the lad will be there before us." 

Meanwhile Hamnet was crouched in a low 
dark room of an ill-built hovel in Sheep Street, 
listening dispiritedly to the wrangling of his two 
fellow - conspirators, and Silver who was not 
granted admittance by Diccon, lay without the 
door waiting impatiently for his master's coming. 
It seemed an eternity of time to both boy and 
dog before they were together once more and 
were speeding forth across the fields and by di- 
vers short cuts to the rendezvous on the hill. 
The lad's face was flushed and his breath came in 
hurried gasps. If he should be too late ! A mist 
danced before his eyes at the mere thought, and 
he stumbled clumsily in his haste. This after- 
noon that had meant so much to him, when every 
golden moment should have been spent at his 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 207 

father's side, was slipping by so fast. There was 
no way to hold it back, no way to live it over ! 
The very last afternoon ! 

In a lightning's flash he reviewed the happen- 
ings of the holiday his father had obtained for 
him. There was the walk in the early morning 
to the ' Great House ' — ' New Place,' the little lad 
corrected himself quickly — just the two of them 
going hand in hand along the streets where, on 
every side, the folk stepped forward with some 
word of greeting, and then there was the visit to 
the house itself. He remembered well how he 
had strutted about the garden while his father and 
Master Underhill were deep in talk and had cast 
proud glances, ever and anon, at the school oppo- 
site to see if any of the boys were looking in won- 
derment at his being there. Then home again to 
the eleven-o'clock dinner, and after that no peace 
at all with father, with all the visitors coming in. 

Well 'twas passing pleasant to stand by and 
listen to the talk, now merry, now wise. Talk of 
the Queen, mark you ! and the expedition to 
Cadiz, and my Lord Essex — he that was so 
young and bold — and Sir Walter Raleigh, too, 
and his vessel the Warspite and how they'd be 
avenged on the Spanishers for all our men had 
suffered at their hands. And talk of the plays 
and players, and bear-baitings — a sport the Queen 
loved mightily — I' faith, 'twas monstrous divert- 



208 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

ing to hear it all and then, look you ! Cousin 
Greene must e'en fall to talking of cattle and 
such like, so that any sensible lad would be 
driven forth to where the girls and their gossips 
were playing in the garden. Well ! 'twas pleas- 
ant, too, there for a while, until 

Hamnet broke off in his thoughts with a shud- 
der. In his ears he could still hear that low 
whistle — two long, shrill notes, and then a pause 
while one could count three, then the notes again 
followed by a cuckoo's call. He had waited all 
Saturday for that signal, listening, listening, but 
it had not come to mar the day. Then Sunday, 
from the earliest time of waking until long after 
the house was quiet for the night, he had waited, 
fearing — hoping as the hours went by — and fear- 
ing again, and still there was no sign ; until at last 
he had cheated himself into the belief that after 
all Ned was not to be punished, that that inter- 
view on Welcombe Hill was some hideous dream 
which had affrighted him. Monday a holiday — 
Monday his father's last day at home — Chapel 
Lane in the morning, and the prospect of that de- 
licious stroll in the afternoon, through the mead- 
ows and woods to the hill where, in his youth, 
Will Shakespeare had been wont to meet Anne 
Hathaway, and where, ever since, during the suc- 
ceeding years on each home visit, there was con- 
stant pilgrimage made to the spot. 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 209 

And it was afternoon and they had all set forth, 
a glad, frolicsome train, only he, Hamnet, was not 
one of the number. Something like a spasm in 
the lad's throat choked him, and as he put up his 
hand to wrench the band of his shirt aside, a lit- 
tle, crackling sound followed the motion. It was 
very faint, and yet on the moment it was like 
thunder in the boy's ears and seemed to cast a 
leaden weight upon the flying feet so that they 
dragged painfully. How could he go on ? How 
could he go into his father's presence when in his 
bosom he carried that bit of paper which would 
snuff out Ned's hopes ? 

He could not go forward. He would creep 
away and wait in hiding through the long, long 
hours of the night past the sunrise, past the time 
of father's going and then crawl home. But 
Ned would be safe — safe on the London road at 
father's side journeying toward his heart's de- 
sire. 

Hamnet paused irresolute and pressed his ach- 
ing temples with his trembling hands. Was that 
plan best? Would it do? He cared not if Die- 
con Hobday and Wat Cawdrey wreaked their 
vengeance on him ; that he would as lief meet, 
he could stand a threshing as well as the next one 
and make no cry so long as Ned was safe and 
father's plans unbroke. Father's plans ! Down 
came the hands and a blinding rush of tears 
14 



210 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

blurred everything. Father's plans — Why ! he — 
Hamnet — was part of those plans, this very after- 
noon's pleasure was devised chiefest for his sake. 

Despite the cruel insinuations Diccon had 
poured forth, the lad's loyal faith in his father had 
not been shaken for an instant. Ned must have 
said those ill things, since Diccon, who loved the 
truth, maintained he had and seemed sore dis- 
tressed in the repetition, but that they had orig- 
inated with his father was a possibility that 
Hamnet would not even admit into his thoughts. 
Ned alone was responsible for them. 

With a contrary rush of feeling the little lad 
experienced a thrill of gladness at the thought of 
the punishment which was so shortly to be meted 
out to his uncle, but the pleasure was as fleeting 
as a bubble's beauty. 'Twas gone in an instant. 
And again that project of hiding knocked for ad- 
mittance at his mind. 'Twould be passing easy, 
he argued, he knew so many excellent places. 

His heart suddenly rose and confronted his 
specious reasoning. And what of father? What 
of the worry and sadness he would know waiting 
for him — Hamnet — to come home, waiting, wait- 
ing — What of the fear that would grow as the 
time slipped by ? The river — highwaymen — what 
other horrors? The whole town would be 
aroused, neighbours and the watch going forth to 
beat up the country-side for Will Shakespeare's 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 211 

little lad. Who else would suffer through those 
tedious-slow night hours? Mother, gran, Sue, 
Judith, Ned, grandfather — the list stretched out 
indefinitely. And if they came not upon his hid- 
ing-place, would father go off in the morning 
back over the road to London, or would he stay 
and search and search ? There was his word to 
keep and important business calling him on the 
one hand, and there was the finding of his little lad 
on the other. And which would be the weight- 
iest ? 

The small heart beneath that folded treacher- 
ous paper leaped quickly. No need to even ask 
the question. There would be no thought of bus- 
iness, or of honour even, on the man's part at such 
a time. And up in London town his brother 
players would say, chiding the impatient, ' 'Tis 
not like sweet Will Shakespeare, he hath never 
broke his word before, belike some evil chance 
hath fallen upon him.' 

Hamnet's face stiffened with a sudden resolve. 
He must go forward. Nothing must come in the 
way of his father's honour or his happiness. Only 
that much was clear to the child's troubled mind — 
that and the imperative duty which his own evil 
spirit had lain upon him and from which there 
was no relief. He must travel over every foot of 
the road to the fulfilling of his vengeance, no mat- 
ter now what it cost him of pain or regret, but in 



212 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

carrying it out he had no right to cloud the last 
few hours of his father's stay. He had missed so 
much happiness, himself, from the short visit, that 
he wondered, as he hastened on, if his father had 
known in his turn any falling off in the usual 
cheer. There had been the same walks, the same 
pleasures, but with a difference. Between the 
two, ever growing higher, was the secret in the 
child's breast which poisoned all his time and 
made the nights, as he lay sleepless in the attic, 
interminable in their going, and the days, with 
their haunting dread, dark though the sun shone 
its brightest. 

And now the visit was almost over, and after it 
had come to an end what would happen ? Ham- 
net had asked himself that question with a sick- 
ening iteration. Ned's fury when he should learn 
what part his nephew had played in frustrating 
his designs would be nothing, less than nothing, to 
bear. There was something else that thrilled the 
little lad with a feeling worse than the fear of any 
physical hurt. The thought not only of his fa- 
ther's displeasure, but of his sorrow. How would 
he look? What would he say when everything 
should be made known? For it must be made 
known if ever between them there would be the 
old tender relationship again. Wouldn't some- 
thing of its sunniness be lost forever? Could it 
ever be just the same again ? 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 213 

Over and over, through the night watches, 
those thoughts had come to the child while the 
clock in the living-room below-stairs had sounded 
like a human voice, saying monotonously : ' Nev- 
er again ! Never again ! ' The words had crept 
into the boy's mind and, as he ran along, he re- 
peated them with a dull persistence, at first un- 
consciously and later with a growing conscious- 
ness : ' Never again ! Never again ! ' Suddenly 
the sound of his voice in that indistinct murmur 
aroused him. With a rush their meaning was 
clear to him. 

Well ! if 't was to be ' never again ' this hour at 
least was his and he would make it fair while it 
lasted. There should be no thought of what 
must happen after curfew. He'd not think of 
that, he'd think of other things — of — of — Wiry, 
there was that anthem he had sung with the boys 
at Trinity o' Sunday. How pleased and proud 
father had looked as he listened from his place, 
his eyes just watching one small lad who had led 
the others, singing loud and clear the words of 
their favourite psalm : 

" ' He shall feed me in a green pasture and lead 
me forth beside the waters of comfort.' " 



CHAPTER XIV 

Like as the waves make toward the pebbled shore, 
So do our minutes hasten to their end ; 
Each changing place with that which goes before, 
In sequent toil all forward do contend. 

Sonnet LX. 

Heaven give you many, many merry days ! 

Merry Wives of Windsor. 

WILL SHAKESPEARE, looking off at 
the view he loved, missed something 
from its usual beauty. It was not that 
the meadows were less fair, though in truth they 
had lost a little of the fresh greenness of the 
spring and were no longer starred with tall 
moon -daisies, but what summer had deprived 
with one hand she had recompensed bountifully 
with the other, and in the glow of rich maturity 
the delicious promise of blossoming-time was al- 
most forgotten. It was not that the Avon, pass- 
ing through the broad valley with the fields ris- 
ing on both sides in softly swelling undulations, 
had grown turbid, it still curved along, a gleam- 
ing coil of silver, like some wondrous chain bind- 
ing the emerald land. 

It was not that Stratford was less dear to the 

214 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 215 

eyes that had grown accustomed to the sight of 
palaces and lofty cathedrals, or less lovely for 
that matter. It was not that the flowers at his 
feet — ' the flowers of middle summer' — that 
raised their faces to catch his glance, were not as 
sweet as those of an earlier day, nor that the sky- 
lark, the blackbird, and the thrush had departed 
from the spot which, according to his fancy, they 
frequented longer than any other of the neigh- 
bouring localities. There was an occasional shy 
burst of song from their little feathered throats 
as they flew past, frightened from their haunts 
by the gay band of people who had invaded their 
solitude with laughter and pastimes. The place 
was still as fair as he had known it in those other 
times when, with a heart beating high with love, 
he had hastened thither to meet the Shottery lass. 

It was as pleasing to the eye, and yet a vague 
cloud had robbed the scene of much of its bright- 
ness. He stood a trifle apart from the others, 
resting after a game of hoodman-blind, and look- 
ing off at the way curving along from Stratford. 
Suddenly the mist cleared and never was the land 
lovelier, nor the sky fairer; never did the river 
flash more radiantly, nor the birds' song sound 
sweeter — for there was the little lad with Silver 
at his side coming — coming along. 

Will Shakespeare turned with a quick exclama- 
tion and hurried toward the advancing figures. 



216 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

" Marry, my pretty knave," he said, with a tinge 
of impatience in his playful voice, " thou art eaten 
up wi' carking cares. Could'st not have kept 
this afternoon free for me — my last afternoon, 
too?" 

" Nay, an I could I would not have budged 
from thy side," the boy answered, catching the 
extended hand in both of his; "and that thou 
know'st full well, I warrant. I meant not to stay 
so long — but 'twas an old promise and I could 
not break it." 

"V faith I should have scorned to have thee 
treat thine honour so lightly. I'd liefer thou 'dst 
stayed the whole day from me — cruel as that 
would have seemed — than have had thee depart 
so much as an hair's-breadth from thy given word." 

Hamnet's grasp loosened and his face twitched. 
After a moment he raised his eyes to his father's 
with a world of entreaty in his glance, which for 
once went unnoticed. 

"But a boy's word," he faltered, "a boy's word 
now, is no such great matter. 'Tis not o' so 
much import as a man's." 

"Ay, verily it is. There be no degrees in 
honour — it knoweth no question o' age. A prom- 
ise, sweet, an thou giv'st it, or I give it, is still a 
promise — something we both must keep, though 
it cost us dear. Once thou hast pledged thy 
word in good faith to another, so it must stand — 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 217 

the Queen's oath is not stronger. Let it never 
be said o' my little lad that he is a promise- 
breaker. Come, I forgive thee thine absence sith 
thou wert but doing o' thy bounden duty. The 
afternoon hath been hardest to thee, I trow, but 
past cure is still past care — thou hast missed rare 
sport." 

Hamnet stood pondering for a minute. How 
could he ask to be guided aright in this troubled 
matter when he had bound himself to secrecy? 
He knew now, in part, what his father thought 
of the sacredness of a promise — what a boy's 
word was worth to him. And that should be 
sufficient guide for his own conduct. Mean- 
while this was his hour — the time that would 
never come again ! He darted forward with a 
loud cry, tugging at the man's hand, and dragging 
him a laughing prisoner into the gay group 
where were assembled Mistress Mary and Mis- 
tress Anne Shakespeare, Sue and Judith with 
their cousin Ursula, and pretty Katharine Rogers. 
Ned, as they came up, was adjusting a plank 
across a tree - stump, while little Humphrey 
Shakespeare, with the prospect of ' riding the 
wild mare ' in company with his playmate Tom 
Quiney, stood at one side shrieking out direc- 
tions in shrill excitement, and Tom Combe alter- 
nately lent a helping hand or fanned his heated 
face with his cap. 



218 Will Shakespeare } s Little Lad 

" Such fine doings," Judith said, plucking at her 
brother's sleeve as he passed; " methought thou 
wouldst lose them all. Prythee, sweet Father, 
wilt play at barley-break, now Hamnet's here ? " 

" Ay, that I will, or prisoners' base, ' More 
sacks to the mill,' or whate'er thou devisest." 

" Then barley-break let it be," Ned cried, hav- 
ing set the two little lads to riding up and down; 
" we be over many, 'tis true, but we can e'en take 
turns. Come, let's draw cuts." 

So the young folk, with William Shakespeare 
in their midst as gay as the gayest, played at the 
old sport, while Mistress Mary and her daughter- 
in-law sat beneath a tree looking on with happy 
eyes. And there, after the pastime was ended, 
the others came to rest themselves with a game 
of l Spanish merchant ' which, as everyone doth 
know, was made by her Majesty, the Queen, for 
my Lord Burleigh's children. A monstrous di- 
verting game surely, and an easy, if one would 
only remember to offer for sale what he hath his 
hand upon. But though Master Will Shake- 
speare had been the first to bring the sport into 
Stratford, he was ever forgetting its rules, so that 
he forfeited much, yet right bravely did he re- 
deem all the fines. There was no undertaking so 
hard that he was not willing to try to compass it 
and was no whit disturbed by the merriment his 
efforts evoked. 



Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 219 

It coming at last to Judith to set him some task, 
she was e'en for making him dance, whereupon, 
knowing how fond she was of footing it, he pro- 
posed they should have ' Sellenger's Round/ 
and before they could say him nay he walked 
him up to his mother and, with his hand upon his 
heart, bowed in right courtly fashion and led 
her forth to her place, saluting her with a kiss. 
In a twinkling Hamnet had sought out Mistress 
Anne Shakespeare, while the others paired off as 
quickly. Then the couples all joined hands and 
went round twice and back again and in and out 
with a succession of figures to vary the circular 
movement, and because there were no fiddlers 
present they all did sing, ' The Beginning of the 
World,' which is a sweet and gracious tune, and 
the one always associated with that dance. When 
it was over, each must confess that 'twas the best 
sport that had yet been devised, and so with 
courtesies and kisses they took leave of their 
partners. 

And then, because the day was waning and the 
little sadness that is ever lurking in the air at 
such times had crept over them — only not un- 
pleasantly — the gay shouts and laughter subsid- 
ed and in their stead someone started a song. 
'Twas Mistress Anne Shakespeare in a voice as 
true and sweet as the skylark's, and as it rose and 
fell in the strains of the melody, each one listening 



220 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

knew that this was best after all ; the music so 
suited the golden peace about them. At her will 
they all joined in with the burden, and after that 
they sang some simple old madrigals and then 
'Joan, come Kiss me Now/ one of the most fa- 
vourite airs in the Queen's virginal book, and 
rightly so, for 'twas as sweet a little tune as ever 
was thought on and full of tenderness. And anon 
followed ' Joan's Placket ' and ' Green Sleeves ' 
for Ned's sake, and ' Constant Susanna,' just to 
tease Sue, and many another ballad, while to 
please the little lads — Tom Quiney and Hum- 
phrey — there was King Harry's hunting-song, 
the one that goes : 

• Blow thy horn, hunter, 
Blow thy horn on high ; 
In yonder wood there lieth a doe 
In faith she will not die. 
Then blow thy horn, hunter, 
Then blow thy horn, hunter, 
Then blow thy horn, jolly hunter.' 

At its close, when they all paused out of breath, 
laughing and wondering what they should sing 
next, young Mistress Kate — with a sly look at 
Master William Shakespeare — started a song that 
began in this wise : ' You spotted snakes, with 
double tongue,' and when she had finished the 
verse they all, with one exception, took up the 
chorus : 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 221 

1 Philomel, with melody 
Sing in our sweet lullaby ; 
Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby ; 
Never harm, nor spell nor charm, 
Come our lovely lady nigh ; 
So, good-night, with lullaby.' 

In faith, though it was a passing sweet song, 
'twas a luckless one to light upon with a careful 
grandmother in the company (as anyone should 
have known !), for as soon as the two verses were 
sung she needs must get to her feet and counsel 
them to hasten home. And when they all pro- 
tested, she stood firm and spoke right round- 
ly, though laughter still lingered in her gentle 
tones : 

" La, Will, la, Nan, I marvel at your wayward- 
ness — you be worse than the children. Hark ye, 
both, an we start not soon 'twill be curfew-time 
before we know it." 

Curfew-time ! Hamnet, leaning against his 
father's shoulder, his face flushed and bright with 
happiness, started away from the pleasant rest- 
ing-place, a shudder passing through his frame 
despite himself, as if some current of air, or some 
grim sense of approaching ill had caused him to 
fall a-trembling. His hour of pleasure was over 
and already the night had come ! 

That vague shaking and the sudden whiteness 
of the small countenance were enough to spur 



222 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

Will Shakespeare from his lazy loitering. In an 
instant he was on his feet, stung by the fear that 
the boy had in some way caught a chill and up- 
braiding himself for his own lack of foresight — 
the little lad was overheated from dancing when 
they sat down and — Why less than that had 
brought about a man's death — Death! why 
should he ever be harping on that grim theme? 
He put the thought from him resolutely, and mar- 
shalled the young people together more anxiously 
than even his mother could have done, and drove 
them laughingly before him, still keeping Ham- 
net at his side and bearing six-year-old Humphrey 
aloft on his shoulder. 

Down the hill and through the meadows, sing- 
ing all the way, went the happy band, Ned's 
voice this time leading the song. And now he 
sang: 'When icicles hang by the wall' — and 
even the owls waking from their day-long sleep 
must have thought that some foolish brother of 
theirs was abroad before the primrose had died 
out of the west, so exactly did the youth imitate 
the merry note — ' To-who, tu-whit, to-who.' And 
anon he sang : ' The ousel cock so black of hue,' 
and waited for Hamnet to take up the throstle's 
song with its high, sweet warble, which none 
could do better than he. The little lad, however, 
was in no mood for singing, and so the rest, miss- 
ing his clear notes, must do without him. 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 223 

Then did Mistress Anne begin ' Who is Sil- 
via?' but none would join in with her; she must 
sing the song from start to finish by herself, in 
that pure voice of hers that thrilled them all in- 
effably, and when she had come to an end a spirit 
of quietness settled upon them, as if for a time 
at least, no other music was worthy to be sung. 

So they pushed on, saying naught, until Susanna 
bethought her of some riddles from the book at 
home, and fell to asking them of everyone. 'Twas 
passing strange how they would all cry that they 
could tell, and then, when they were put to it, 
how they failed. There are only a few things in 
this world as slippery as a riddle's answer — 'tis 
here, 'tis there— and yet 'tis gone when one seeks 
to grasp it even for a moment. 'Twas small won- 
der, then, that Susanna should be called upon to 
reply to her own questions and should chide them 
for their lack of wit. Judith, too, was ready with 
her favourite riddle : 

' My lover's will 
I am content for to fulfill ; 
Within this rime his name is framed, 
Tell me then how he is named ? ' 

Only, having little respect for their abilities, 
she would not give anyone a chance to speak, 
but shouted out the solution in a high, trium- 
phant voice : 



224 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

" His name is William ; for in the first line is 
Will, and in the beginning of the second line is 
/ am, and then put them both together, and it 
maketh William." 

In this way the door of their mirth was once 
more set ajar and the fun and jollity broke forth 
again. 

All too soon Tom Combe was forced to halt, 
and after bidding them good-night and taking 
leave of Master Shakespeare and Ned, who would 
be away betimes in the morning, he darted off to 
his home. Katharine Rogers was the next to 
drop out of the little company as they came to 
her door in High Street. There was more than 
a trace of sadness in her glance and in her heart 
as she bade Ned good-by, and wished him a 
happy dole in London town, while a note of re- 
gret crept into her voice as she said farewell to 
the man. 

He glanced at her upraised, winsome face, 
grown suddenly grave with the chill of separa- 
tion. 

" Nay, sweet maid," he said, cheerily, " look not 
so cast down; to be merry best becometh thee. 
We'll have many goodly walks and talks together 
yet, I trow." 

She clung to his hand tremulously, not trusting 
herself to speak, then with a quick kiss on Ham- 
net's cheek she turned away. 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 225 

A few minutes later Ursula and Humphrey — 
the latter half asleep — were given over to their 
parents in Bridge Street, and after that it was 
but a short distance to the home in Henley Street, 
and only a step or so beyond to the Quineys' 
house whither little Tom disappeared in a trice 
with a noisy whoop at parting. The others lin- 
gered in the Shakespeare garden, reluctant to go 
within-doors. The sun had set, but the sky was 
radiant with the after-glow; little rosy, golden 
clouds were floating hither and thither in the 
soft ether, like the wind-loosened leaves of some 
wondrous heaven-born flower. 

Susanna leaned her cheek against her father's 
arm. 

" It hath been a brave, brave day," she cried, 
with happy eyes. " Canst tell what is my 
thought?" 

" I pray thee what, my little riddlemonger?" 

" T faith I have had my heart's content," she 
whispered. 

He touched her bright hair tenderly. 

" Say'st thou so, sweet rose o' May ? Marry, 
I'll let thee into a secret — bend thine ear close. 
Methinks I must borrow me thy phrase an I 
would speak the truth " 

" Hark ! " Judith interrupted, " there's that 
same whistle I heard this noon. I marvel now 
what it may mean — 'tis passing strange." 
15 



226 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

There was a cessation of the light talk and 
laughter at the child's request, and on the soft 
air there was borne to the listening group two 
long, shrill notes. Judith stood half turned in the 
direction whence the sound had come, her hand 
raised, compelling silence. In the short interval 
of quiet no one spoke, then the notes were re- 
peated, and again there was a short pause which 
was followed by a cuckoo's call. 

" Tis hard by," Ned said, indifferently ; " belike 
'tis some signal. That's all, mouse, thou canst 
read no mystery therein. Some boys are e'en oft 
for a frolic " 

" It seemeth to say, ' Remember — remember — ' " 
Judith persisted. 

" Why, that's a signal's meaning any way," 
Ned laughed ; " 'tis to stir someone's memory." 



CHAPTER XV 

Conspiracy ! 

Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night, 

When evils are most free ? O, then, by day 

Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 

To mask thy monstrous visage ? 

Julius Cesar. 

If hearty sorrow 

Be a sufficient ransom for offence, 

I tender it here ; I do as truly suffer 

As e'er I did commit. 

Two Gentlemen of Verona. 

IT was growing late and the candle was burn- 
ing low, though Mistress Mary Shakespeare 
had still a number of last stitches to set 
in Ned's new turned doublet. Her daughter-in- 
law, from a near-by seat, watched the slender fin- 
gers draw the thread in and out surely, for all that 
they trembled occasionally, and sought to divert 
the mother's anxious heart with gentle gossip. 
The men-folk were away at the Swan, for Will 
Shakespeare would not hear of going there that 
last night save in his father's company, and so 
had over-ruled the old man's opposition and had 
borne him thither in triumph to meet their friends 

and neighbours. 

227 



228 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

Above-stairs the little girls were fast asleep in 
their room, and in the loft over their heads Ned 
moved noiselessly to and fro as he busied himself 
with taking the neatly folded articles from the 
chest his mother had fondly packed that day and 
which was going by carrier's cart to London. 
He was not minded to go to bed, for in truth he 
was far from sleepy, but he was in no mood for 
companionship of any sort. Despite the fact that 
his cherished dream was shortly to be realized, his 
heart was uncomfortably near his throat. He was 
already experiencing his first taste of homesick- 
ness before ever he had left his home. He had bade 
all his friends farewell, and though he knew they 
envied him his good fortune, he had a dozen minds 
to change it with them. Not that he regretted 
leaving them overmuch ; it was the parting on the 
morrow from his own home-people that cast its 
shadow over the warm-natured, simple fellow and 
filled him with a vague uneasiness. By and by, 
when he had conquered the feeling, he meant to 
steal down to the street and sally forth. Perhaps 
he might find some of his mates at the Swan lis- 
tening to the talk of the elders, and a game of 
shove-groat would do much to dispel his sadness. 

Meanwhile he bent over the chest and took out 
his few belongings and arranged them different- 
ly, whistling softly over his self-appointed task 
and trying by that means to call back his man's 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 229 

spirit. Several times he glanced around at the 
bed which Hamnet was wont to share with him, 
but the little fellow was not there. Edmund 
strongly suspected that he had stolen away and 
was, even then, standing without the Swan, bend- 
ing close to the red-lattice in order to catch the 
sound of a certain voice within raised in some 
goodly tale. Of a truth, Ned had no wish to 
play the master and send the little lad home. 
Let him stay there an he would ! Why, even 
the women below-stairs would wink at the boy's 
wrong-doing, could they but guess it, knowing 
why he waited and what the passing moments 
meant to him. The youth's heart was full of an 
unusual tenderness for his nephew, and though 
he was never one to weigh his own thoughts nor 
to give much importance to them, he could not 
but think how he should feel were he in the 
child's stead, and sympathy sharpened his per- 
ceptions. 

Hamnet, however, was not in Bridge Street, 
nor had he had any intention of going thither. 
Lingering near taverns and ale-houses had been 
prohibited and the lad had no mind to vio- 
late even the least of his father's commands. He 
was hiding in a far corner of the dark attic, fight- 
ing with himself, and with the wish that grew 
ever stronger within him to withhold the message 
altogether from Ned. And yet, insistent as that 



230 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

longing was, he felt that it was too late to admit 
any scruples of regret into his consideration ; 
they should have been thought of before he had 
voluntarily joined in the conspiracy against his 
uncle's happiness. Say he forgave Ned every- 
thing, the blow to Silver, the cruel words ut- 
tered in the garden, the crueller words which 
Diccon had repeated and even the way he meant 
to oust him, Hamnet, from his rightful place in 
his father's heart, say he forgave all that, forgot 
all that. What still remained ? A boy's promise 
— a boy's word — something which could not be 
lightly broken, something which must stand as 
steady and true as the Queen's oath. 

The suffering little soul was full of agony as 
the warfare within his breast went on without 
cessation. Which was right, which was right — 
he asked himself again and again — to keep his 
word, or to save Ned ? They could not both be 
right. Which course should he follow ? On the 
instant there came to him a phrase his father had 
uttered : ' Let it never be said o' my little lad 
that he is a promise-breaker.' 

Like a drowning man catching at a straw the 
boy caught at this remembrance now and turned 
it into an argument for his own conduct. In the 
absence of any guidance he must act upon this 
advice and keep his honour unsmirched. It was 
the flimsiest kind of reasoning, but the child, 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 231 

troubled and sore distraught, hesitated no longer. 
His hand sought the paper in his bosom and 
drew it forth, twisting it noiselessly into the form 
of a ball ; the next moment it whizzed into the 
room past the kneeling youth and fell just before 
him into the open chest. 

Ned, startled from his reverie, looked around 
quickly, half expecting to see his nephew or some 
friend who had stolen softly up the stair to sur- 
prise him at his work, but there was no one in 
sight and the silence all about was unbroken. He 
laughed outright at his folly, and yet, surely, 
there had been something to disturb him — some 
sound — some — His wandering glance rested on 
the crumpled wad which, partially opened by its 
fall, was lying upon his clothes. So, he had been 
asleep after all and this thing had waked him ; 
somebody had crawled up to leave the message 
and had gone as quietly ; he did not puzzle himself 
to guess the person's identity, but opened the pa- 
per eagerly and held it to the light. There were 
only a few words scribbled in a hasty hand, un- 
known, yet still with a strange hint of familiarity 
in some of the letters. 

" Marry," he cried, half aloud, " I'm bidden to 
Sanctity Lane near the sally-piece by nine o' the 
clock to learn summat o' import before I go to 
London, and the mad wag who hath writ this hath 
put no mark nor sign to let me know who he is 



232 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

withal. Ha — ha, Phil Rogers, 'tis thy hand 1 
swear, thou canst not trick me, my sweet rogue. 
Now what wild sport art up to, eh? V faith I 
will not go — i' faith I will, though ! My very last 
night in Stratford town I'll e'en be one wi' the 
lads i' their pranks. 'Twill help to do away wi' 
this heaviness, I warrant me." 

He scrambled up from the side of the chest 
leaving the clothes strewn in disorder on the 
floor and extinguished the candle, then he stum- 
bled down the stairs. Hamnet drew back into 
the deeper gloom as his uncle hurried by; the 
next moment he crept cautiously after him. 

The living-room was deserted, for the two 
women had stepped over to Neighbour Quiney's 
for a brief word with his good wife, and Ned just 
paused long enough on its threshold to cast a 
glance at the clock whose hands pointed to past 
the hour, before he hastened into the street and 
plunged forward whistling gayly. 

The summer night was dusky but not dark; 
there was no moon, and the stars had a faint, 
far-away shining about their splendour as if they 
had little love for the earth and what went on 
there. A soft, white mist had risen from the 
river and floated between the trees and bushes 
like a filmy veil which lent an air of remoteness 
to their familiar shapes. Hamnet crawled into 
the shadow of the garden-wall and peered into 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 233 

the street, following with eyes which almost re- 
fused to do their office the tall, well-knit figure 
moving ever on into the gloom. How quickly 
Ned went, almost as if he had wings. Would 
nothing stay him — could nothing stay him ? The 
little lad shivered in sudden apprehension as the 
answer to that unspoken question flashed into his 
mind. Ay, go thy ways, Ned Shakespeare, an 
thou tread'st never so lightly, and whistl'st never 
so sweetly, there's somewhat waiting for thee in 
Sanctity Lane that shall cry halt to those brisk 
steps and peace to that merry tune. 

Hamnet ran out into the centre of the street. 
He had kept his word — his honour was white — 
and yet the greatness of the wrong he had just 
committed overwhelmed him with a terrible feel- 
ing of horror. How could he bear to defeat 
Ned's hopes? How could he bear to have him 
suffer? For suffer he would, and that most fear- 
fully ; his captors would know no mercy. Words 
of warning, words of love and tenderness leaped 
to the child's lips, and he was powerless to utter 
the least of them. He stood there speechless, 
looking, listening, trying with all his might to 
call, but the shout was the veriest whisper, and 
he could only murmur with sobbing breath: 

" Ned, Ned, come back, I cry thee pardon, 
come back ! " 

And Ned, speeding on, heard naught. 



234 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

Hamnet remained in the same spot like one 
turned to stone, while that whistle grew faint 
and fainter. How long he stood there tongue- 
tied — helpless, he never knew. It seemed ages to 
him ; in reality it was but a few minutes, though 
each one in passing lengthened itself out indefi- 
nitely to his tortured mind ; and still he was inca- 
pable of moving — incapable of thinking even. 
Suddenly a thought pierced its way to his be- 
numbed brain — he must save Ned ! In a second, 
as if a door had been set wide, there followed 
a host of rushing, half-formed ideas; he must 
overtake him, reach the appointed place before 
him, help him in what fray there was, come off 
victorious, or be borne away, too, down-stream 
without another word from father. He could 
not hold back now. 

He darted swiftly on over the way Ned had 
travelled, but though he ran his fleetest, he could 
catch no glimpse of the figure he sought, nor 
hear no least sound that would indicate his pres- 
ence. It was just possible that the youth had 
paused at one of the taverns to see if any of his 
friends were there who would bear him company, 
but Hamnet could not tarry in his turn. The 
town was very still. The houses he passed were, 
for the most part, dark and quiet, though here 
and there a lighted casement flung a patch of 
brightness out over the ground. An occasional 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 235 

burst of jollity issued faintly through the red- 
latticed screens of the ale-houses lying along the 
way, and in the distance, moving along slowly, 
he caught the glimmer of the horn-lantern carried 
by the watch. He slipped more into the shadow 
and sped on warily. 'Twould be a sorry thing 
to have the watch clap a detaining hand upon his 
shoulder and walk him off to the Town Cage, or 
to the stocks. The little lad had a vague notion 
of the swiftness of justice ; he knew something of 
the strictness of the law which required that all 
apprentices and servants, found in the streets 
after nine o'clock, should be summarily dealt 
with, and he felt that the same treatment would 
be meted out to any and every straggler. 

It occurred to him on the moment that Ned, 
wishing to avoid the watch, had taken the other 
road, which was longer, but which was rarely used 
after dark and so escaped vigilance except of the 
most transitory nature. The thought put new 
force into his flying feet ; he dashed forward, his 
heart beating in his ears like a smith's hammer, 
his breath coming in great gasps. So running, he 
came at last to Sanctity Lane, and turning aAvay 
from the church with its brooding air of peace, 
he started up toward the willow plantation. 

There was no one stirring in the length and 
breadth of the lane but himself; the stillness 
round about was so deep that it filled the boy 



236 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

with an overwhelming sense of fear. Suddenly 
it was broken by a succession of loud, uncanny 
cries. Some of the Trinity rooks — those same 
rooks that were so monstrously well-behaved o' 
Sundays, and were ever setting an example of 
quietness to the lads — cawed right lustily among 
the trees, and one of them whirred with a tre- 
mendous fluttering of his wings into the air, and 
circled above his nest before swooping down 
again, his clamour dying away into a silence 
which was all the more awful for the lack of the 
strident noise. 

Hamnet felt the earth totter beneath his feet. 
He was too late ! What was to happen in Sanc- 
tity Lane had happened, and only the rooks were 
the wiser. He took a step forward with a faint 
gasp of horror, and just then from the distance 
on his left there came a sound that made his 
brain reel. He paused and raised his head, 
straining his ears to listen. The sound came a 
little nearer — he could not mistake it — he — it — 
His heart leaped for very joy ! It was Ned's 
whistle— he'd swear to it anywhere ; no one in all 
the world could whistle ' Green Sleeves ' like 
Ned! Now, God be praised! he was still in 
time. 

With a great bound he reached the low line of 
underbrush that formed a hedge at one side of the 
way ; there he halted and gave vent to two soft, 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 237 

shrill notes; he paused and counted three (how- 
could he bear to pause even for that brief space 
when that merry music was coming ever nearer?) 
— he repeated the notes and then, while the 
cuckoo's call was still vibrating on the air, he 
called out sharply : " London! " 

There was a long moment of silence — of sus- 
pense — before a gruff voice almost at his elbow 
answered : " Father." 

" Quick," Hamnet cried, " away wi' ye ! This 
work may not be done to-night nor any other 
time." 

" Thou'st played us false," Diccon hissed, " but 
an thine uncle gets off wi' a whole skin the same 
shall not be said o' thee." 

Hamnet sprang beyond the reach of the ex- 
tended arm. The rippling melody of ' Green 
Sleeves ' was growing each instant more distinct 
— but hark ! from that other direction there came 
the murmur of voices and look — look — a gleam 
of light, like some little heaven-born star droop- 
ing low to earth. 

" Thou shalt reckon wi' me as thou wilt anon," 
he whispered, " but get thee gone now. Canst 
thou not hear the watch? Nay, I speak the very 
truth — see for thyself." 

" The watch ! the watch ! " Wat Cawdrey cried, 
" I'll na be caught here and set i' the stocks for 
three days running for all the Ned Shakespeares 



238 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

i' the world. Let go thy hold, Diccon Hobday, 
thou shalt na be off first." 

There was a hurried scuffle in the bushes, and 
the next instant three dark figures fled out of the 
cover. Hamnet caught a glimpse of them as they 
scurried across a bit of open before they gained 
the shadow of the thicket beyond. At that mo- 
ment a group of men, one of them swinging a 
lantern, turned from Bull Lane into Sanctity. It 
was not the watch, however, but merely a few 
neighbours returning late from some pastime, 
though the boy, supposing them to be the guar- 
dians of the peace, had given the alarm in good 
faith. As they neared his hiding-place in the 
underbrush, where he had hastily concealed him- 
self, he recognized from snatches of their conver- 
sation that they were Puritans, who had met in all 
likelihood at the other end of the town to worship 
with their fellows, and were even then separating 
for the night. He could hear their pious utter- 
ances as they commended one another to the 
Lord's keeping. They passed close to the little 
lad, not noticing him, nor did they pay any heed 
to the merry whistler who sped now in full sight 
diagonally across the open lands to the lane itself, 
thinking him, doubtless, some roisterer who had 
taken more than his fill of ale, and with whom it 
were well to have naught to do. They raised 
their voices in a solemn hymn to drown the gay, 






Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 239 

ungodly tune and so, singing, they went their 
different ways. 

As Ned reached the bushes Hamnet rushed out 
upon him. He had formed no clear idea in his 
mind of what he should say or do. To him his 
uncle was only safe for the moment. Diccon and 
his companions had retreated but a short dis- 
tance, and if they were hiding in the woods they 
might return as soon as the Puritans were out of 
hearing ; they would recognize them as readily 
from their speech as he had done. He caught 
the young fellow's arm in his trembling hands. 

" Get hence, Ned, get hence," he whispered, 
" 'twas I that brought thee hither. Nay, tarry 
not an instant ; there's grievous harm hard-by." 

" Thou, Hamnet, what mak'st thou here ? thou, 
little lad " 

"Ay, no one else," the boy sobbed, trying to 
push the youth with a strength which on the sud- 
den had grown of no avail. " Look not so sor- 
rowfully — look angerly — chide me — I would 
have stayed thy going wi' father, and so I took 
counsel o' them that would help me." 

Ned shook himself free from the hold of the 
clinging figure, stung by his nephew's admission. 
As far as he himself was concerned, he had no 
fear of any foes, but for this self-confessed one 
of his own household — this one who had been a 
traitor — he could find no outlet for his scorn. 



240 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

"'Tis a pity," he sneered, after a moment, " that 
thy heart should fail thee, thou unworthiest vil- 
lain, thou that canst be steadfast to no single 
thing!" 

" Upbraid me an thou wilt, I deserve no less," 
Hamnet interrupted, " but tarry not, tarry not, 
else will they come back. I would not have 
thee stayed — I sent them off — I said the watch 
was nigh." 

His fast-coming sobs almost choked back the 
rushing words. " Oh ! at the last I wanted thee 
to go wi' father — i' faith I did — i' faith I do — 
'Twas only that I'd given my promise when I 
was wroth wi' thee — I cry thee pardon — I — Oh ! 
get thee hence — I " 

Something in the tired, gasping voice found its 
way to Ned's heart and made him acutely con- 
scious of many things besides his own angry feel- 
ings. In a second he realized what it had cost 
Hamnet to give up his revenge. The night run 
with its hidden, imaginary dangers, more awful to 
the child than any of the harsh certainties of day 
— dark though they might be — was nothing in 
comparison with the struggle which must have 
gone on in his breast. He seemed sore spent 
and the lifted, pleading face showed ghastly in 
the surrounding gloom. Compassion softened 
Ned's eyes ; he put out his hand with a good- 
humoured laugh. 







™sri " jJ&iiil'dfii:'/ ■ /' '' " j.JM'.ra:' ..: f--":^- '"^i-.-.-s^i^s^^^ii^-r- 




Hamnet caught the outstretched hand and pressed his face against it. 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 241 

" Nay, little lad," he said, " we'll bury all ill-will 
here, and so let's go home together. In sooth, 
thou'lt be roundly shent by thy mother and mine 
own an they do but see thee. Come ! I'll save 
thee a rating for this last time, peradventure we 
may steal to bed wi'out their knowledge." 

Hamnet caught the outstretched hand in his 
eager grasp and pressed his face against it, kiss- 
ing it again and again and caring naught that his 
tears were falling fast. They were such happy 
tears — for were not Ned and he friends — was not 
Ned safe ? 



16 



CHAPTER XVI 

0, nature ! what hadst thou to do in hell, 
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend 
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh ?— 
Was ever book containing such vile matter 
So fairly bound ? 0, that deceit should dwell 
In such a gorgeous palace ! 

Romeo and Juliet. 

We do pray for mercy ; 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy. 

Merchant of Venice. 

THE night brought only troubled slumber to 
the little lad, black dreams from which he 
wakened with a start to sob and sob again 
softly to himself as he relived their terrors and 
then found peace and reassurance in the sound of 
Ned's contented breathing. It was a satisfaction, 
at such moments, simply to put out his hand and 
touch his uncle's arm, clinging to him gently as 
if his hold could save him in his unconsciousness 
from untold dangers. Waking or sleeping there 
was ever the fear that Diccon would in some way 
sweep down to his revenge and bear the unre- 
sisting youth off to that hut in the fields, there 

242 






Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 243 

to keep him in hiding till time should be no 
more. 

The first grey stirrings of dawn, creeping in 
through the chinks of the tiny window, looked 
into the wide-opened hazel eyes, and at its glance 
some of the unreasoning alarm in the boy's breast 
was dispelled. It was day at last. He crawled 
out of bed noiselessly. Usually he slept on the in- 
ner side, but Ned had humoured his request the 
night before, and had changed places with the lit- 
tle fellow, not knowing that the small figure was 
interposed as a barrier between him and the vague 
apprehensions conjured up by the child's fancy. 

Hamnet tip-toed across the room to the corner 
where a little coffer stood in which he kept his 
choicest belongings; he knelt down at its side 
and turned the contents over impatiently until he 
found what he sought, then he took it to the light 
and inspected it closely. It was a fair -sized 
knife with a verse running along the blade — his 
father had given it to him at the New Year, and 
not a boy in the Grammar School had one half 
so fine. He had considered it too good for every- 
day use ; the Sheffield whittle — his grandfather's 
gift — was kept in constant service, but this one 
was only taken forth on especial occasions and 
then put back again with greatest care. He 
meant to use it always when he was a man ! He 
fell to polishing it with his handkerchief, breath- 



244 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

ing softly on the steel and watching the tiny blur 
cloud its brightness for one moment, only to van- 
ish the next, and by its going cause a greater lus- 
tre than before. When mortal efforts could make 
it shine no fairer, he went over to the open chest 
where Ned's clothes lay in a tumbled mass and 
slipped it in, covering it carefully. Sometime in 
London town, a week hence belike, belike longer, 
Ned, tossing up his things, would come across 
the knife, and would guess on the instant how it 
had come there. He would know what hand had 
stowed it away, and his thoughts leaping back to 
Stratford would be thanks enough. 

Swiftly as the next few hours went to the 
household in Henley Street, even the minutes 
seemed to drag intolerably to one of the inmates 
there. Hamnet could feel no real sense of secur- 
ity while Ned remained in Stratford. There 
might come some mischance at any time to hin- 
der his departure, and should that happen — the 
boy's imagination reeled at thought of the worser 
evils lurking behind. He hovered about his uncle 
in a protecting way that was very pretty to see. 
To the elders, with one exception, there was 
nothing remarkable in this constant show of de- 
votion ; Susanna and Judith were as unremitting 
in their attentions. The near prospect of parting 
with a dearly loved friend and playmate, for that 
Ned had always been to the children, easily ac- 






Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 245 

counted for the manner in which they pressed 
close at his side with gentle words. 

Will Shakespeare, however, quickly perceived 
the change in his little lad's face. Whatever mis- 
understanding there had been hitherto between 
the two boys, it existed no longer. There was no 
animosity in Hamnet's glance, that was apparent 
to the observant eyes ; what was not so apparent 
was the reason for the excitement in the child's 
bearing, and the fluctuating colour in his cheeks. 
Still this was no time for idle conjecture — the mo- 
ment that showed the father the triumphing of 
his son's better nature over his jealousy was too 
bright to be dimmed by any of his own vague 
fears. The lad had come bravely through the 
struggle unaided ; it was only natural that it 
should have cost him something. 

There was an additional fondness, too, in Ned's 
gaze whenever it was turned upon his nephew, 
and a touch of respect which had never been 
there before. The sobbing, incoherent confession 
Hamnet had made the previous night had shown 
him, in part, the tortures the valiant little heart 
had endured. That there had been some plot 
afoot to set back his journey seemed improbable 
enough to the older boy, when the younger one 
refused persistently to reveal the names of the 
conspirators, and was loud in words of self-cen- 
sure. 



246 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

It never occurred to Ned for a moment to con- 
nect Diccon Hobday with the matter ; none of 
the lads of good family and position in Stratford 
had aught to do with him ; he was a notorious 
bully and idler, and one who was ever in mischief 
of some sort. It seemed as unlikely, therefore, 
that Hamnet should be associated with him in his 
evil practices as to say that Avon was sheer ice in 
the summer-time. Diccon, in reporting the fight 
which had taken place in the Warwick road the 
week before, had drawn largely upon his imagina- 
tion for the reasons which occasioned it, though 
the fact remained that there had been an encoun- 
ter in which Ned Shakespeare had come off vic- 
tor. When a lazy lout steals an old woman's 
savings, as Diccon Hobday had stolen Goody 
Baker's few pence, they be sorry fists that will 
not treat such a rogue to the drubbing he so 
richly deserves, and Ned had not been loath to 
give the cowardly thief a lesson. He had whipped 
him in a fair fight, however, for he was never one 
to take even the meanest adversary at a disad- 
vantage, but when at last the dastardly fellow 
had cried ' Hold ! ' and had reluctantly given up 
the money, Ned had gone on his way without be- 
stowing another thought upon the wretch grovel- 
ling in the dust where he had spurned him. 

The plot as Hamnet whispered it, now veiling 
and anon unveiling it, was shrouded in a mystery 



Will Shakespeare* s Little Lad 247 

which had Ned had a few days longer at home 
he would have sifted out to his complete satisfac- 
tion. As things were, however, he was forced to 
let it rest, promising himself to disentangle it at 
some future time, and then reward those hidden 
enemies of his with interest ; only for this enemy, 
who had given up his vengeance at the last, there 
was nothing but a heartwhole pardon. One who, 
in his remorse, could take all the blame to him- 
self, who uttered no least word of upbraiding and 
did not seek to extenuate his actions, was surely 
one to be forgiven. Ned, after that first flash of 
anger in Sanctity Lane, was conscious of a ten- 
derer affection than ever for the little lad, and 
when, the piteous tale ended, the child had clung 
to him, sobbing : " Thou'lt not seek to cozen me 
from my place in father's heart ? " he had recog- 
nized his sufferings and had answered convinc- 
ingly : 

" Nay, thou'rt mad to think that — thou dost thy 
father and me grievous wrong to hold such 
thoughts. 'Twas some fiend told thee. An I 
should do that thing may I be blasted forever ! " 

With the memory of those words stirring in 
his breast, and the ring of the indignant voice 
sounding in his ears, it was no wonder that Ham- 
net should put Diccon's insinuations from him 
resolutely, and that all his thoughts toward his 
uncle should be fair ones. Still, haunted as he 



248 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

was by that strange dread of evil which even the 
morning light was powerless to banish, he wished 
Ned away. 

Poor Ned! 'Twas but a sorry figure he cut 
that morn with his untasted breakfast before him, 
for how could a body eat when there was a lump 
the size of a penny-loaf in his throat ? Even the 
braveness of his attire set oddly upon him, he had 
forgot so completely all that jaunty swagger with 
which he had borne himself but yesterday. He 
looked in very truth like the boy he was, not like 
the man he would fain have others think him. 
And though he laughed right stoutly and talked 
much in a high, unnatural voice, there was scant 
sense in what he said. However, there was no 
one by to notice his sorry attempts at wit, and 
surely not his mother, for the littlest thing did 
make her laugh, as 'twas indeed the case with all 
the rest. 

Suddenly a noise in the street without came as 
an interruption to the gay, inconsequent talk, and 
when they had hurried to the door, though they 
knew full well what it meant, there stood the two 
saddle-horses held by the grinning boy from the 
Swan, whose face broadened at sight of Will 
Shakespeare, with whose generosity he already 
had had some acquaintance. He ducked his head 
with a clumsy attempt at a bow, and looked out 
from under his shock of hair in open-mouthed as- 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 249 

tonishment at the evidences of emotion about 
him. 

" When fowkses be goin' to Lunnon," he said 
later in the day to his fellow-servant at the inn, 
11 'tis sumraat to be proud on, but ye'd ha' thought 
the Shaxpers, look'ee, was goin' to they's own 
buryin' to see they. Ned's face was the len'th o' 
Trinity steeple and a smacked a's old 'oman on 
her cheeks, an* she hung raound a's neck an' at 
the last a had to tak 's two hands an* set he loose. 
An' Wully Shaxper's brows be drawed, an' a 
said ' Come on !' an' wi' that, a's little lad clombed 
him up behint an* so they gallops off. V fecks, 
thinks I, there be-eth no pence for I this morn, 
but 'twas no sooner i' my pate when Wully pulled 
in 's horse and tossed I summat. What think 'ee? 
'Twas a shillin' ! La, now, I wisht such fowkses 
went every day to Lunnon. I ha' ruther see a 
grievin' man set off nor a laughin' one, says I — 
your grievin' man keepeth but a half eye on a's 
money, an' a shillin' looketh no bigger nor a sax- 
pence." 

The travellers from Henley Street joined the 
small gathering of horsemen already assembled at 
the Swan, and rode off in their company, keeping 
well to the rear. Ned had no desire for society 
just then, and Will Shakespeare had the excuse 
of lingering yet a short space with the child who 
sat behind him. The bo}', from his position, cast 



250 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

ever and anon a wary glance around, seeing in 
every bush some fancied resemblance to those 
bushes in Sanctity Lane, and fearing that, despite 
the brightness of the early morning, some harm 
might even then befall the fresh-faced, uncon- 
scious youth on his right. It would be so easy 
for an arrow to come singing through the air 
and find its home in the new plum-coloured jerkin, 
or to wing by the ear beneath the soft, dark curls 
so close, that it might bite off the tip in its flight. 
But the sun, mounting higher, looked down on a 
scene full of peace and beauty, with no faintest 
suspicion of harm abroad. From the group of 
men in front occasional bursts of laughter and 
gay scraps of conversation were borne back to 
the others on the breeze. A woodman's axe, 
with a cheerful ring in its note, sounded in the 
near-by thicket, and a servant-lass, stepping brisk- 
ly across the fields, lifted her blithe voice in song. 
There was little said by the three ; the sadness 
of an indefinite parting weighed heavily upon 
their spirits. Suddenly Ned Shakespeare reined 
in his horse and looked back for the last glimpse 
of the distant town where it lay beyond the shim- 
mering river. After a few moments of thus look- 
ing, he straightened himself resolutely and faced 
again toward the London road winding farther 
and farther from home. A sense of the stern 
realities of life sharpened his young features j in 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 251 

that moment the curtain which, till then, had 
shrouded the threshold of his manhood was 
drawn aside, and he had taken a long farewell of 
his heedless, inconsequent boyhood. He rode 
quite near his brother. " I be going forward 
now," he said, simply, but with a new ring in his 
voice ; " thou wilt want these last few minutes wi' 
Hamnet alone." 

He bent swiftly and kissed the small, white 
face. 

" I would thou wert going wi' us in good sooth, 
little lad," he said, huskily, " but cheerly, true 
heart, cheerly, 'twill not be long before thou'lt 
ride wi' us all the way. Marry, I would that 
time were now." 

Hamnet clung to the extended hand with all his 
might. 

" And so do I," he cried in choking accents, 
" and so do I — Thou'lt send me a letter? " 

" I' faith, I cannot say — ask me not, dear wag, I 
be but a poor wight at anything o' the sort — but 
there ! peradventure I'll try." 

" And thou'lt keep a good watch on father — an 
he hath a pose, or quack, or any other ill thou'lt 
care for him ? " 

" Beshrew me else ! Why that's Ned Shake- 
speare's chiefest business i' London — to be a 
help and comfort to 's brother. Nay, now fare- 
well." 



252 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

The two hands fell apart and the next moment 
Ned galloped ahead with a fierce clatter, a little 
cloud of dust rising on either side of him and 
spreading out upon the cobwebbed grass along 
the way. 

" Ned 's a good lad," Wilt Shakespeare said 
half-aloud, then, more to himself than to the boy, 
he continued, " V faith I shall be glad to have him 
by me, 'twill seem like a bit o' home." 

" I would have stayed his going," Hamnet mur- 
mured, faintly. 

It was the veriest whisper, wrung from the 
child almost against his will. A refractory 
buckle in the strap engrossed the man's attention 
on the instant so that he did not perceive the 
note of anguish in the low voice, then he lifted 
his head. 

" Wouldst thou ? Marry, thou hast conquered 
thy wicked thought, my brave boy — my Hector. 
Thou wouldst not stay him now ?" 

" Nay — not now. I be glad for many reasons 
that he is gone, that he will be wi' thee, that 'tis 
his wish, but chiefest that he will be out o' harm's 
way." 

" O' harm's way, say'st thou? Now I pray 
Heaven he fall not into harm's way. By my 
troth, there be many pitfalls in London life for a 
country lad, but he will be ever near me and I'll 
e'en guard him an I can." 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 253 

" I would have stayed his going," the little 
voice repeated, monotonously. 

"Yea, yea, but that is past, think not on it 
longer, my own true heart." 

"The whistle thou heard'st yestreen was to re- 
member me o' my promise." 

Will Shakespeare jerked in his horse and 
turned to face the child. " What whistle — what 
promise? " 

" Why, in the garden when Judith would have 
us listen — she misliked it sore — oh ! thou know'st, 
surely, and Ned said 'twas some signal and it 
was even so." 

There was a momentary pause which was filled 
in by a shout of laughter from the horsemen on 
in front, but faintly, too, for they had fared well 
forward. Hamnet caught his breath and went on 
unflinchingly. 

" 'Twas to remember me o' the message I was 
to give Ned to — to trick him — nay I cannot tell 
thee — to — to keep him back " 

" What ! " Will Shakespeare cried in a voice of 
anger. " Didst thou conspire with others against 
thine uncle — against my own brother? Fie 
upon thee ! Was that the business yester-noon 
that kept thee from my side ? Didst come from 
that base work to join us in our pleasures ? An- 
swer me — out with it — say but one word." 

" Yea." 



254 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

Again there was a pause, and again that note 
of merriment was borne back to them on the still 
air where they halted in the roadway beneath the 
arching trees that bent above them as a bird 
broods over her young. A dunnock in the bushes 
uttered its tender, plaintive song, unconscious of 
the heart-break abroad. 

It was a bitter moment to both man and child, 
such an one as alters the aspect of the world in 
an unforgettable fashion. The boy was suffering 
in every nerve of his body, and the man, whose 
sympathies were ever with all that was unselfish, 
generous, and good, to whom honour — in the least, 
as in the greatest action — was the light by which 
he was wont to live, experienced a sudden revul- 
sion of feeling at the revelation of the guilt prac- 
tised by one who was dearer to him than life and 
fame. In his ears he could hear again the little 
lad's voice as it had been raised in song the after- 
noon before and he could still see the laughing 
face whose smiles had all the while masked those 
treacherous intentions. The baseness in the boy's 
heart was like the canker in the folded bud — un- 
seen — unguessed — from the beauty without, which 
yet might spread — God alone knew whither. 

Will Shakespeare put his hand before his eyes, 
his anger lost in a great, engulfing sorrow. In 
that brief space of time many of his brightest 
hopes had their death. 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 255 

" Let me know thy story," he said at last, pity 
in his voice and glance ; " let me try to understand 
it that I may find some way to forgive thee." 

Then there followed one of those miserable 
half-confidences in which the mists of misunder- 
standing do but gather the more closely. The 
little lad, in his compunction, kept back what 
would have justified his own conduct in part. 
He realized that by repeating what Diccon Hob- 
day had said he might reinstate himself in his 
father's affection, but in so doing it would be at 
Ned's expense ; and after one moment of tempta- 
tion, he could not let Ned suffer. Surely it was 
enough to say that, jealous of his uncle's going 
to London, he had quarrelled with him, and know- 
ing of some older lads who had a grudge against 
him, he had been willing to betray him into their 
hands. His halting, disconnected sentences only 
deepened the confusion and made his case hope- 
less. Nothing was clear to the listening man save 
that the traitorous message had been writ and 
delivered by his own son ; after which — fear of 
the results seizing upon the child — he had warned 
Ned in some fashion and so the evil had been 
averted. 

"Who were thy helpers, thy masters, rather?" 
he demanded abruptly when the recital had come 
to an end, "for I cannot think that one o' thy 
years could devise so hellish a scheme." 



256 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

" Nay, ask me not," Hamnet cried ; " I've given 
my word not to tell." 

" Then keep that much o' thine honour clean ; I 
will not seek to know, but an thou ever loved'st 
me cut loose from their company. Get thee down." 

The boy clung to the strong figure wildly. 

" I pr'ythee let me ride as far as to the hill-top — 
as far as to yon bush even " 

" Nay, not another step — here we must part — 
get down." 

" Thou'lt not leave me angerly — thou'lt pardon 
me and — and — thou'lt kiss me, dear Father — 
sweet Father " 

" Think'st thou this day is not a heavy one for 
me also?" Will Shakespeare asked with a broken 
voice, as he unloosened the small fingers and cast 
them from him. " There ! there ! I pardon thee, 
little lad. Now Heaven forbid that I should hold 
my pardon back, only thou hast made my heart 
dark, thou who hast ever been its light. Nay, 
nay, I must kiss thee, sweet, I'll not go from thee 
in anger — but keep thy life clean, dear boy, and 
so make amends. Farewell." 

He put the lad from him resolutely and gal- 
loped on without one backward glance ; he could 
not trust himself to look again at the pitiful, tear- 
stained face ; he would not see the little fellow 
come running after him to the hill's crest. He 
knew as well as though he had watched every 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 257 

step of that painful progress how the boy, blinded 
by his tears, would stumble on and on, and then 
would wait breathlessly for that last glimpse. 
He'd not turn back to wave his hand — even the 
withholding of that sign would be some slight 
punishment and the child deserved some punish- 
ment surely. 

" I' faith," the man said bitterly to himself, " an 
we all got what we deserved, which one o' us 
would come off free ?" 

Just before him the road curved abruptly ; a 
few yards farther on and horse and rider would 
be lost to view. He was almost there — nay, he'd 
not look back, the boy must be made to suffer; 
he had reached the bend Involuntarily his fin- 
gers twitched on the reins and the obedient steed 
paused. For one moment there was a mighty 
conflict in the man's breast, the next he turned in 
his saddle and waved his hand in a last farewell 
to the little figure above him. There was an an- 
swering signal in return, then the rider spurred 
forward. He was too far away to see the sudden 
joy that transfigured the child's face, as the sun- 
light breaking through the banks of clouds glori- 
fies the storm-swept land, too far away to hear 
the faint cry, " I'll make amends, sweet Father." 



17 



CHAPTER XVII 

An honest tale speeds best being plainly told. 

Richard III. 

A letter for me ? It gives me an estate of seven years' health. 

Coriolanus. 

IT was Saturday and a half-holiday at the Gram- 
mar School. Some of the boys were gone 
for a game of ball to the field beyond the 
Weir Brake, others lingered in the playgrounds 
back of the Guild buildings busy with prisoners' 
base, and still others were playing at tag across 
the open common of the town itself. There were 
divers ways of spending a half-holiday, as many 
and dissimilar as there were boys to play withal. 

Hamnet, however, had no mind to join in any 
of the sports, but sat instead on the door-step of 
his own home, his head sunk dejectedly on one 
hand. Susanna and Judith had just set off for 
Shottery to meet their mother and to return 
thence in the early evening. He had watched 
them disappear in the distance with an almost 
indifferent glance ; later he might follow them, 
though he would give no promise in answer to 
their cajoling words. 

258 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 259 

The day was sultry, and a lowering sky, with 
not a glimpse of blue to be seen anywhere, 
stretched above the parched earth ; for twenty- 
four hours the dense mass of copperish-coloured 
clouds had hung thus heavy, and still not a drop 
of rain had fallen. But the boy, idly noting the 
low-darting swallows, knew that the storm would 
not be delayed overlong. There were other in- 
dubitable signs abroad which he could not fail to 
perceive. The soft smoke from the different 
chimneys fell dispiritedly, shrouding their sides 
as with a veil, the oxen in Neighbour Bridges's 
field hard-by were snuffing the air with impatient 
nostrils and looking vainly to the south with 
longing in their eyes ; the bees had gathered in 
swarms close to their hives, not venturing farther 
away, and some great blue-bottle flies buzzed 
sluggishly within reach of Silver's capacious 
jaws — Silver, who in his turn, would drowse 
awhile and then rise listlessly to scrape up the 
earth in the garden-bed in a futile search, or 
anon would stretch himself with loud yawns. 

All the morning Hamnet had seen the rooks go 
circling past the school-room windows, now ap- 
pearing and now disappearing, restless as were 
the other birds and beasts. Their harsh cries 
filling the air reminded him of the noise they had 
made that night in Sanctity Lane, and the horror 
of that dark moment pervaded his being again 



260 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

with a force that chilled the blood in his veins. 
The night with its hideous details was still fresh 
in his memory, the remembrance of it followed 
him to his bed in the lonely attic and plagued him 
through the long hours there. It was at his side 
when he woke from his fitful snatches of sleep, 
and throughout the day the least thing would 
bring it before him. He was haunted continually 
by the thought of what might have happened if 
some accident had delayed his footsteps and 
Ned, whistling gayly, had advanced alone to that 
dark line of underbrush. If — if — if — The little 
mind was in an agony of torture. 

The remorse the sensitive nature had under- 
gone — and was undergoing — was a punishment 
more cruel than any the most fiendish imagina- 
tion could devise. One moment the content of 
Ned's safety and ready pardon was a salve to the 
open, stinging wounds, the next they ached un- 
bearably ; though forgiven, the child could not 
forgive himself. Perhaps sometime, he argued, 
when he had done some worthy thing — some 
thing so full of honour that his father would thrill 
with pride to hear of it — he might then forget all 
the deceit and treachery which now weighed so 
heavily upon him. 

Not the least among his bitter memories was 
the remembrance of his father's anger and scorn. 
It was like a lash to his shrinking flesh. But 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 261 

keener, bitterer, more poignant by far was the 
knowledge of the deep sorrow he had caused 
the man. What! he, Hamnet, who would have 
walked over burning ploughshares to save him 
the littlest, littlest ache, who would have suffered 
untold miseries to keep pain of any sort from him, 
to burden him in this cruel fashion ! To have 
made his heart dark, he who had ever been its 
light ! The thought brought its own anguish — 
it was past enduring. 

Every word his father had uttered was stamped 
upon his brain — he could hear them everywhere ; 
clearly, sternly, sadly, they echoed and re-echoed 
through his being. And then that parting em- 
brace not one whit the less tender for what had 
happened — those lingering kisses not the less 
dear because they were given in sorrow — those 
words that were fairer than the fairest music : 
' Nay, I must kiss thee, sweet — I'll not go from 
thee in anger — ' while the memory of these 
brought comfort, the sting of his unworthiness 
robbed that comfort of all peace. He realized, 
after some vague fashion, that he had failed his 
father and he could not justify himself even in his 
own eyes. There was no justification possible. 
He could never begin to express all the evil that 
had lurked in his jealousy of Ned ; the black, ma- 
licious thoughts stumbled back incessantly to up- 
braid him. And besides that jealousy — and what 



262 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

it might have led to — he had forgot the Shake- 
speare honour and had tossed his word aside as 
carelessly as good Master Combe often scattered 
coins that the boys might scramble for them in a 
fine game of Muss. He was a promise-breaker! 
Why, not a boy at school but would cry ' fie ' to 
hear that he could unswear an oath so lightly. 

Over and over again in an unending circle, 
these thoughts presented themselves to the little 
lad, now one, now the other, now altogether, un- 
til it almost seemed as if his strength would fail 
him so weary did he become. He had grown 
paler, too, and hollow-eyed, and his head often 
ached, though not as his heart did ; still he ut- 
tered no word of complaint. With an undaunted 
bravery of mien which he had inherited from his 
father, he faced the dreary days and the intermin- 
able nights. He was gentler, perhaps, than he had 
ever been, and those about him not understand- 
ing — for it is not always given to those who live 
nearest us to see the most clearly — thought that 
it was the separation from his dearly beloved par- 
ent which, for the time being, had put a check 
upon his usually merry spirits. 

"The trouble will mend with the days," Mis- 
tress Mary Shakespeare told herself softly, sor- 
rowing for the pain the little fellow must bear 
alone ; " an 'twere not for the balm they bring us, 
our grief would know no ease." 



Will Shakespeare s Litlle Lad 263 

In the midst of all this distress of mind Hamnet 
had not felt one throb of apprehension for the pun- 
ishment which he might look for at any moment 
from Diccon Hobday. On the comfortless, home- 
ward walk that Tuesday morning, when, despite 
the sun's shining and all the brave summer beauty 
around him, he was only aware of the darkness in 
his own breast, he had half expected to be way- 
laid by Diccon and his followers, and to receive 
at their hands that which he had courted and de- 
served. But he had crept on unmolested, sick 
at heart, though not from fear of any bodily ill. 
Since that time three days had elapsed and as yet 
Diccon had made no move of any sort, though 
there was small danger that he would break 
his word. The little lad, however, did not wish 
the promise to be broken as far as he was con- 
cerned. If he had deserved contempt for slight- 
ing his own word, let that contempt be wiped 
out with blows — only in that way could he begin 
afresh. 

He sat quite still for some minutes after his 
sisters had taken their departure, gazing idly be- 
fore him. The gillyvors in the garden that were 
wont to flaunt their gay colours in the sun were 
limp and straggling, with no trace of coquetry 
left in their bearing, the grass was parched and 
lifeless, but just where he could see it, a belated 
'Jump up and kiss me' lifted its merry little face 



264 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

from the faded green, a perpetual sunshine in its 
bright glance. Hamnet regarded it half curi- 
ously for a few moments. 

" F faith thou'rt a brave flower," he said at last, 
in his dreamy fashion ; " where all else looketh 
drear thou'rt still smiling. I do bethink me that's 
what someone would fain have me do. Even if 'tis 
dark all around I must be like yon bloom. What 
is 't the folk here say of it? They call it pansy — 
h'm ! — a pansy — that's for thoughts. Marry, this 
shall remember me o' father and his ways ? " the 
boy drew in his breath hard and set his face reso- 
lutely ; after an instant or so he began to whistle 
a few staves of a song softly to himself. 

He broke off suddenly and sprang to his feet, 
eager to put an end alike to his laziness and to 
his sad reflections. He opened the door back of 
him and shouted at the top of his lungs, but his 
voice sounded hollow and unnatural in the empty 
house. He waited for the reverberations to cease 
and something in the stillness of his surroundings 
filled him with a nameless dread. " Gran," he 
cried, " Gran ! " 

There was no answer, and by degrees the re- 
membrance came to him that his grandparents 
had purposed going that morning to Snitterfield 
where Henry Shakespeare was lying ill of a slow 
fever. Hamnet closed the door after him and 
stepped out again under the pent-house with an 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 265 

anxious glance at the threatening clouds. He 
hoped it would not rain for awhile ; the grass and 
flowers must take a lesson from his brave little 
bloom, and wait with what spirit they could sum- 
mon to their aid. It must not rain with grand- 
father and grandmother still from home, and all 
the others away at Shottery. 

On the moment he decided to join his mother 
and sisters there, and started down the street 
with Silver stepping proudly at his side. They 
had only gone a little distance when their prog- 
ress was barred by a strange figure. It was a 
short, stout man laden with bundles, and carrying 
a saddle upon his head in such a fashion that he 
almost ran the two wayfarers down. Hamnet 
veered quickly to one side to avoid the danger, 
then he paused outright. 

" Give ye good den, good Neighbour Page," he 
said, with his ready courtesy, " an thou wilt, I'll 
gladly help thee." 

The stranger thus addressed came to a stand- 
still in his turn and pushed back his curious head- 
gear, disclosing a fat, red face, down which the 
drops of perspiration were trickling in their vain 
haste to overtake one another. 

" Oh, ho," he cried, in a deep, pleasant voice, 
"'tis Will Shakespeare's little lad. Marry, but 
thou may'st help me — it shall never be said o' 
Nick Page that he refused a friend's offer when it 



266 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

came i' the nick o' time. There's a jest, hark 'ee 
that might please the world an I were handy wi' 
my pen. The nick o' time quoth I, when thou 
earnest to help me, Nick Page ! Here, take this 
bundle and bear it wi' care. What ! wilt have an- 
other to keep it company? Why, there, the bur- 
dening o' thine arms is the easing o' mine own. 
And for myself I can rid me o' this monstrous 
copatain hat that liketh me not and carry it so. 
Verily, an I'd not leave it at the Swan for it to 
serve every man's turn I must e'en turn myself 
into a sumpter's horse. I' faith I'd not have that 
smug-faced drawer, Tom Hedges saddle himself 
wi' it, he looks groats out o' a man ! But how 
shall I pay thee, little lad?" 

" I want no pay, good Master Page." 

" Ay, but thou shalt have pay, thou must have 
pay — now before we part I'll give thee summat 
as cost me naught and yet 'twill be richer than 
gold to thee. Riddle me that an thou canst. 
'Ods nouns, 'tis as good a riddle as was ever set 
down i' a book. Where dost think I come from? " 

" From London, belike." 

" Nay, to 't again — thy thoughts are all for Lon- 
don, I trow. 'Twas not from London and yet 
there was an o in it. An o in it — Ho, ho! That's 
good i' faith, passing good, but now I do bethink 
me there were many o's in it, for when I lay at 
the Crown I heard a vast number o' sighs- — " 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 267 

" The Crown ? Thou wert at Oxford then and 
— I pr'ythee, good Master Page, was it when my 
sweet father was there ? " 

" Ay, that it was. Now I give Heaven praise 
here's my house already, how quick time doth 
speed in pleasant company ! Yea, thy father was 
there, lad, and we'd a cup o' clary together (but 
prithee, no word o' that !) and Ned was there, too. 
A fine youth and a manly ; he'll make a gallant 
player, I warrant me. I hope some day to see 
him enact a part an 'tis ever my dole to be where 
my Lord Chamberlain's men are — hist! breathe 
not that — my good mistress is e'en turned Puri- 
tan and her brother — oh Lord ! Lord ! what ways 
must we all come to." 

" But my father, sweet Master Page, how looked 
he — was he sad ?" 

" Nay not sad, and not glad, neither, but shad- 
owed wi' a pleasing melancholy as though the 
pasty liked him not, and he had few words to say, 
yet he was no wet blanket on our cheer. Then, 
on a sudden, the smile was on his face— as quick 
as the dace leaps i' the stream. Thou couldst 
never guess the wherefore o' it." 

" Nay that I could not, so I pray thee tell it 
me." 

" Why, spoke like a good lad, and I'll e'en to 
my story. F faith it must be short and sweet 
like the posy i' a wedding-ring. Now it so fell 



268 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

out that business had called me to Oxon some 
days before thy father came thither, but my wife s 
brother — Master Abraham Sturley — him that I 
spoke of just now, journeyed there at the same 
time. Not i' Will Shakespeare's company — Lord 
no !— but on the edge o' it as it were, like fringe 
upon a damsel's petticoat. He and some o' his 
fellow Puritans had banded themselves together 
and had ridden on, taking the dust o' the un- 
godly even into their very nostrils. Well, my 
wife's brother never lies at the Crown — marry, 
the meat there mislikes him sore ! — so I hied me 
to his lodgings to greet him. And after we had 
talked o' this and that I told him that among the 
travellers who had but just come in were my dear 
neighbour and friend gentle Will Shakespeare, 
the very sweetest fellow in all this world, and his 
brother Ned. Whereupon did my wife's brother 
fall to talking wi' hums and ha's and shakings o' 
his head and Lord save us nows ! But the heart 
o' his sentences was this : How that the night be- 
fore he left Stratford — a Monday night it was — 
he was out late e'en singing o' hymns and pray- 
ing o' prayers, and on his way home, when he had 
almost reached his own door lying well out along 
Sanctity Lane, he stumbled him o'er a dark figure 
i' the road. Nay, young lad, there was no clary, 
nor sack neither, nor so much as a can o' ale at 
that Puritan meeting. 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 269 

" Well, my brother — my wife's brother — but 
there ! 'tis all the same — was for going forward 
and then, for that he hath very tender bowels o' 
compassion, he bent him over the stranger, and 
when he saw that he was not dead — nor not dead 
drunk neither — but only stunned by some blow, he 
worked over him an he were his very own until 
the fellow oped his eyes. 'Twas that good-for- 
naught Walter Cawdrey, but my wife's brother 
is ever for saving a brand from the burning " 

" Wat Cawdrey ? " 

" Ay, Tony Cawdrey's son and the grief o' the 
old man's declining days. 'Twas a grievous tale 
he had to tell, how Diccon Hobday, that most 
unrighteous knave, had set a plot forward to 
murder Ned Shakespeare, and for the better fur- 
thering o' his vile purpose he had e'en told little 
Hamnet Shakespeare (that's thee !) the most piti- 
fullest stories, as if they'd come from Ned's own 
mouth, o' cruel things he said thine own father 
had spoke about thee. And, at first, though there 
was no single word o* truth in 'em, Wat did say 
thou wert angered, and rightfully too, and wert 
willing to have Ned punished, then thy heart mis- 
gave thee and thou'dst not hearken to any harm 
being done thine uncle. But Diccon plied thee wi' 
more lies, and said he'd only stay Ned's going to 
London, so at the last, willy-nilly, he got thy con- 
sent to give him some message. And whether 



270 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

thou didst or not that foolish Walter could not 
tell, but only that when they were waiting for 
Ned that Monday night, Diccon and himself and 
another lad, thou cam'st in his stead and bade 
them be off, and so frighted 'em wi' saying the 
watch was nigh, that they scurried away like 
water-rats. And Diccon, wanting to be first, did 
quarrel wi' Wat and gave him a blow that sent 
him flying. 

" So that was all, and the moment my brother 
was done I left him, e'en wi' his mouth open 
pouring forth the moral o' it all and how Ned 
Shakespeare should take this as a warning and 
shun plays and players, and all ungodly mum- 
meries. I ran me back to the Crown as fast as 
my legs could carry me, and out wi' the tale in a 
flash, and Ned was all for going back to Stratford 
to serve Diccon Hobday after his deserts, and he 
told us what thou hadst done to save him that 
night, and how thou wouldst not tell the names o' 
those that were mixed up wi' thee i' the matter, 
but e'en took all the blame to thyself. This and 
much more, and when he had come to the end, 
now I do protest, there was that standing i' thy 
father's eyes that would ha' made me swear there 
was onions on his plate did I not know otherwise. 
Go to ! 'twas there, but 'twas clear shining again 
in a second, and a smile 'twould ha' made thy 
heart dance to see. And when we had taken our 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 271 

clary he plucked me by the sleeve and asked me 
if I'd do a favour for him. So I told him yea, even 
if it was to go to the Indies for it. And he said 
'twas not so far but 'twas to a fairer place and 
that was — home. And when he found that I was 
e'en coming back this week, why then I must 
bear this precious thing for him ; he'd ha* come 
himself, instead, only that his word was passed to 
be i' London. 'Ods my little life, how thou hast 
kept me talking ! Canst guess, now, how I shall 
pay thee for thy kindness, thou little copy o' thy 
father? What is that that hath cost me naught 
and yet will be richer than gold to thee ? " 

" A letter— a letter ! " 

" In good sooth, thou'rt right — 'tis that. But 
marry, why all this pother about a mere bit o' 
paper wi' characters upon it? There, rest thee 
there, my saddle, and now my bundles — one — 
two — three — four — so, to my task. 'Twill be a 
search, indeed, to find that same letter I warrant 
me. Is 't i' this poke? Nay, not so. Nor this? — 
my hat-band belike ? What ! not there ? Whew ! 
suppose it be dropped by the way — a sorry 
chance — a sorry chance. Here Master Hoppity, 
Master Ne'er-Stand-Still, help me out wi' this 
thing that I ha' borne above my heart. There ! 
away wi' thee, thank me no thanks." 

" I can never — never — never — thank thee enow," 
the little lad cried in a shaking voice, as he threw 



272 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

himself against the man and clung to him in a 
close embrace. 

" Nay, then, strangle me not," Nick Page pro- 
tested, his honest eyes shining but dimly through 
the soft mist that overspread them, " undo thy 
hands and scamper, lest my mistress coming will 
read thee a sermon as long as my arm for such 
pestilential foolery. Why 'twas no such great 
thing to bear that letter home, an I ha' done the 
work o' the Nine Worthies thou couldst not re- 
ward me more. In sooth, I be but a foolish, mild 
man, and so my good wife is ever saying — but 
there ! — A plague upon this dust that hath blind- 
ed me and hath got i' my throat besides ! Will 
the rain never come to lay it? What think'st 
thou, young Shakespeare — it hath grown parlous 
dark indeed." 

" I cry thee pardon, dear Master Page, methinks 
'tis passing bright." 

" Go to, for a mad lad ! Wi' clouds like a sable 
pall ready to burst i' torrents any moment, how 
canst say 'tis bright? Out upon thee for a ras- 
cally knave. Come, away, away, true heart, I 
hear my mistress' voice within, an she findeth out 
I supped at the Crown wi' a play-actor (now the 
Lord love him !) I am undone." 



CHAPTER XVIII 

I feel within me 
A peace above all earthly dignities, 
A still and quiet conscience. 

Henry VIII. 

The wheel is come full circle. 

King Lear. 

THERE was no further consideration of Shot- 
tery and the dear ones there. The wish 
to join them was forgotten in the desire 
to be alone — alone with those new, new thoughts 
and that wonderful letter anywhere in the fields, 
with only the voice of Avon slipping past among 
the sedges underneath a sky that not all the blue 
and gold of summer could make more fair. Un- 
mindful of the direction he had taken, Hamnet 
passed along down to the waterside and, turning, 
followed the river for a short distance on the 
way toward Charlecote. He loved to wander 
at will through the pleasant meadows or, anon, 
keep to the little path that wound up the wooded 
steep and so on to Sir Lucy's demesne and Bish- 
op's Hampton. 

Sometimes long lines of grey willows and green 
18 273 



274 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

alders completely hid all glimpses of the river, 
sometimes the trees fell away and it curved 
through low-lying lands, one with the grassy 
margin, or again it was lost to sight by enclosing 
thickets ; but his quick ear was ever heedful of 
its voice as it went laughing through the rushes 
along the pebbly shore, or stole by some darkened 
spot with a sad moan in its murmurs. There was 
scant music, however, in its sluggish flow that 
day, though his happy heart would have discov- 
ered only its own meaning therein had the boy 
chanced to listen. But with that little scrap of 
paper in his keeping which had altered the whole 
aspect of earth and sky so wonderfully, how 
could he stop to think of aught else ? He had 
read it again and again as he walked along, and 
now that he held it thrust into the breast of his 
jerkin turn where he would he could still see those 
magic-producing words. 

He ran forward gayly, unconscious of the low- 
ering heavens, unconscious of the breathless heat, 
unconscious, most of all, of the stealthy footsteps 
following ever behind him, lagging when he 
lagged and pressing on more quickly when he 
accelerated his pace. Several times Silver paused 
and gave utterance to a low, snarling bark, but 
he was speedily recalled to his usual good be- 
haviour by a word of reproof from his master, 
and no whit abashed continued on his way, lick- 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 275 

ing the pendent hand with a gently apologetic 
tongue. 

" I cannot make thee out," Hamnet cried at last 
as Silver growled more fiercely than he had yet 
done, " there's naught abroad to vex thee that I 
wot on. Is 't not enough that I am happier than 
I ever thought to be, but that thou shouldst seek 
to mar my content wi' thy grumblings ? Nay, I 
meant not to speak so roundly, dear heart, and I 
cry thee pardon. Come, come, we'll go no far- 
ther — we'll e'en rest here awhile and then hie us 
home." 

As he spoke the boy seated himself on the 
ground and drew the dog's head up on his breast 
with a soothing touch. 

It was a wild, tangled place ; the banks of the 
river, which narrowed here, were sheer and dense- 
ly wooded and the stream, uncoiling at their feet, 
was kept in an almost perpetual darkness, which 
lent a sense of danger to the uncertain depths. On 
a warm, fair day it was pleasant enough to turn 
from the dazzling glow and to halt for a brief 
space amid these cool shadows and glance down 
into the eddying waters beneath the overarching 
trees and catch the sudden points of light where an 
occasional shaft of sunshine pierced the thinner 
leaves with its sharp lance, probing its way to the 
waves and shivering them with its touch, or to 
see them disturbed from their sullenness and 



276 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

brightened by a kingfisher's quick dart for its 
prey. But when the sky was overcast there was 
something unlovely and sinister in the grey 
gloom all around. The hush that so often pre- 
cedes a storm pervaded the lonely spot that July 
afternoon and gave it an additional air of solem- 
nity. It was as if Nature were holding her breath 
in anxious expectancy, dreading she knew not 
what. A great heron, alarmed by the invasion 
of its solitude, rose from the side of the river 
and flapped its heavy wings noisily as it moved 
away farther up stream, flying low above the 
water. A little willow wren piped in feeble dis- 
may from its nest, and the frightened whir of the 
reed sparrows among the sedges for a moment 
disturbed the brooding stillness, then it pressed 
close again darker and gloomier for the touch 
of life and motion that had come and gone. 

Hamnet, sitting on the bank, was unmindful of 
any lack of brightness in his surroundings ; usu- 
ally in sympathy with Nature's varying moods 
he yet failed to perceive that in this instance she 
was not in accord with his thoughts. The golden 
haze which invested his fancy lent a fairness to 
everything. He went on patting Silver's head 
with a tender hand. 

" Thou canst not think what joy hath come to 
me," he said after a little, a faint tremor in his soft 
voice, " thou canst not think. A letter, the sweet- 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 277 

est, the bravest, that ever was writ, I trow, and 
mine — mine — my very own. Nay I pity thee, 
dear beast, that thou canst not read it for thyself, 
but there! I'll pour it into thine ears — thou shalt 
know every least word o' it. I'll not keep it 
from thee a minute longer." 

He transferred Silver's head to his knee and 
drew the paper from his breast, kissing it warmly. 

" See thou how fair it looketh," he went on ; 
" oh ! poor, poor eyes that cannot make it out, my 
eyes shall serve thee. Listen : 

" ' Alderliefest : From my heart I write that word, but 'tis 
most weak indeed. There hath come news to us, my brave boy 
— my all the world — of the sore trouble thou hast known of late, 
those wicked lies, which, working on thy gentle nature, turned it 
to bitterness until thou wert ready to do the villain's bidding. 
But in the end thine own true heart conquered, as true hearts 
always must and shall. 

" ' Now 'fore heaven 'twas a valiant act that run of thine 
through the night for thy uncle's sake, and I cry thee pardon> 
sweet, for that I was wroth with thee before I came away. 
Hadst thou told me all not one least cloud would have lain be- 
twixt us. Nay, never let there be thought of jealousy on thy 
part. Tis a vice to shun, for there is no fair thing that it doth 
not poison, and every little trifle, to the jealous mind, seemeth 
more real than the great sun itself. 

" ' I would I were back in Stratford again that I might wreak 
my vengeance on thy cozeners, but shun their company — this 
charge I lay upon thee. I will not make this letter longer than to 
say that I kiss thy dear lips and to pray God, little lad, that He will 
have thee in His holy keeping. From the Crown, the — -' " 



278 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

With a deep bark Silver bounded away from 
the encircling arm, knocking the paper which his 
master held before him upon the ground in his 
flight. Hamnet possessed himself of it quickly 
and smoothed out its crumpled folds, then he 
thrust it into his breast again. " Thou art over- 
rude, I trow," he cried, half angrily, " and need'st 
that that will teach thee better manners " 

"Ay, that he doth," a voice back of him 
growled, "an thou dost na call the beast off, I'll 
give him summat that will stop his mouth for- 
ever." 

Hamnet was on his feet in a flash, and turning 
saw Diccon Hobday trying to ward off Silver 
with a huge stick, while just behind him he 
caught a glimpse of Wat Cawdrey's vanishing 
figure. In a moment the boy's firm hand was on 
the dog's collar and he had jerked the animal back. 

"Down, true heart, down," he commanded, 
"thou art a trusty friend — come, we'll e'en go 
home." 

" Nay, thou'lt na budge," Diccon cried, his 
voice gaining in boldness, as the dog unwillingly 
crouched at his master's feet ; " I have summat to 
say to thee, else I'd na tracked thee hither from 
Stratford, and go thou shalt na." 

" I may not stay, so prithee let us pass." 

" And why may'st na stay, thou little whining 
thing ? A week agone thou wert willing enow to 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 279 

companion me when I could serve thy turn, but 
now — thou may'st na stay. By the mass, who hath 
laid behests on thee? Marry, 'tis I, Diccon Hob- 
day, that shall say what thou wilt do." 

" Nay, then, I may have naught to do wi' thee, 
for so my father hath said." 

"Thy father? Out upon thee, for a tattling 
knave ! " 

" I tattled not, 'twas thine own friend there 
that told, and more besides; how 'twas all false 
that thou didst tell about Ned, and 'twas only 
said so that I should help thee to thine own ven- 
geance." 

" Beshrew me, but 'tis a lie, Diccon, an arrant 
lie!" Cawdrey vociferated stoutly as he crept a 
trifle nearer, though he still maintained a consid- 
erable distance between himself and Silver. 

Hamnet cast a look of scorn upon the speaker 
who was now sworn friends again with the un- 
principled fellow. 

"Tis the very truth," he exclaimed, disdain- 
fully. 

" So thou'lt slander thy betters, and lie, and 
break thy word, thou lily-livered, prating thing," 
Diccon cried, white with anger; "thou'lt pay for 
thine own sins and thine uncle's into the bargain, 
or I'll change skins wi' a weasel. Thou needst 
na think to fright me wi' that lazy cur, I've that 
here that shall quiet him." 



280 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

There was a sudden gleam of steel as he finished 
speaking, and Silver, with a loud yelp of pain, 
bounded into mid-air only to fall back with a 
groan, a stream of blood gushing from his shoul- 
der where the knife had gone home. 

For one moment Hamnet stood as if paralyzed 
with the horror of what had happened, while 
everything swam before him in a sickening mist, 
the next — with a great cry of grief — he threw 
himself upon his knees by the prostrate animal 
and tried to stanch the wound with his handker- 
chief. 

" Alack ! my dear heart," he sobbed, forgetful 
of the presence of his enemy, forgetful of all else 
save the suffering in the loving, upraised eyes, 
"look at me — tell me thou art not hurt over- 
much." 

" So, thou gaby, I've found a scheme to make 
thee cry, eh?" Diccon snarled, as he gave the 
dog a brutal kick ; " methinks a bath in the river 
would be a cure-all for that wound. Lend a hand, 
Wat, and we'll cast the beast in and his master 
after him." 

Hamnet laid Silver's head gently upon the 
ground and sprang to his feet, confronting his 
taunting foe. 

" Go thy ways," he said, brokenly, " thou hast 
hurt me enow; an thou hadst knifed me, 'twould 
not have been so bad. Go." 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 281 

" By my troth," Diccon sneered, " wouldst lord 
it over me? I'll go when the humour seizeth me, 
and na before, and that's the end on't. And as 
for this thing here, why so — and so — I'll spoil 's 
pretty steps for him if that he ever walketh again. 
What ! thou'lt show thy teeth at me, thou cur ? 
I'll bleed thee more for that complaint." 

Hamnet caught the raised arm in his hands 
and dragged it back with ail his pitiful strength. 

" Nay, that thou shalt not," he cried ; " thou 
shalt not harm him further — thy quarrel is wi' 
me. I pray thee, thresh me, as thou saidst, keep 
to thy word — but harm him no more ; he's sore 
spent as it is, and I fear me — I fear me " 

Diccon dragged his arm free and dealt the lad 
a blow that sent him sprawling upon the ground. 

" Stay there, thou puling baby, I'll serve thee 
last, so save thy breath to cool thine own por- 
ridge. Marry, an it paineth thee to see this cur 
suffer, thou shalt have a full dose. Hither, Wat." 

Cawdrey obeyed the summons with visible re- 
luctance, for to his slow mind it seemed best to 
let wounded, like sleeping dogs, alone, and he had 
no wish to feel Silver's teeth even in his weak- 
ened state. 

" Nay," he urged, " let's be off. Thou'st done 
enow for one day — give the lad a taste o' thy fists 
and so away — the rain is coming on." 

As he finished speaking he approached Hamnet, 



282 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

who was again kneeling protectingly by Silver, 
and cuffed him with such force that he reeled over 
the dog's body. 

" There," he said, triumphantly, " we be quits 
now — thou and me — wilt take back that lie ? " 

" Nay," Hamnet returned, dauntlessly, " it was 
no lie. Thou know'st whether Master Sturley 
succoured thee or not o' Monday night. Oh ! ye 
think that because my father is away ye can 
wreak what ill ye will, but have a care. Good 
Master Page and others beside know already o' 
your villainy, and if aught o' harm befalleth us 
here ye'll have short reckoning wi' them." 

" The lad's right," Cawdrey cried, in great 
consternation, retreating at the same time to the 
thicket. "Come — come — the beast is stirring 
now, and he'll do for thee an thou'rt na watchful. 
Prithee — hurt na the lad furder. V faith, the whole 
country-side will be upon us for his sake. Thou'st 
given him drubbing enow, and thou'lt pay dear 
for this day's sport, but by cock and pie ! I be na 
in it. I was loath to come, and that thou know'st 
an thou speak'st truth. And thou canst na say I 
hurt thee, boy, nor thy dog neither, but only that 
I begged yon fellow to stay his hand. Come 
away, Diccon, whiles 'tis yet time." 

" Ay, run, thou black-hearted traitor," Diccon 
shouted after the fleeing figure, " save thine own 
skin, thou hemp-cracking rascal! I'll be even 




Hamnet caught the raised arm in his hands and dragged it back 
with all his pitiful strength. 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 283 

wi* thee yet for this, though 'twere a pity to do 
aught to rob the gallows o' its fruit. As for 
thee," he continued, raining blow after blow up- 
on Hamnet's defenceless body, " beshrew thee, 
thou'lt na soon forget how one Stratford lad kept 
his promise." 

He threw the half-senseless form from him. 

" Now, lie thou there," he snarled, " and when 
thou canst, crawl home and set the whole town 
by the ears, 'tis little I care. An they search far 
and wide they will na find me. The new land is 
the land for me, and so — farewell. " 

He strode away with a contemptuous laugh 
which the freshening breeze bore back to the 
quiet spot — quiet, save for the rising voice of the 
river and the occasional cry of some bird hasten- 
ing home to its nest. Then, on a sudden, a great 
gust of wind came howling through the long 
lines of willows and they bent, cowering and shiv- 
ering, before the fury of the driving storm, which 
had broken at last. 

After a time the keen air blowing upon the 
little lad revived him. He struggled up into 
a sitting position and strove to disentangle his 
thoughts. It was almost impossible to think con- 
secutively with that dull ache all through his 
body, and the duller ache at his heart. Wait ! 
something was coming back. The next instant 
he was on his feet, half dazed still, and half blind 



284 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

in his weakness, but trying to pierce the darkness 
about him with his anxious glance. 

" Silver," he cried, tremulously, " where art 
thou, true heart ? " 

The river, roaring by, seemed to still its angry 
voice, the trees held back their swaying arms as 
if to listen. 

" Silver ! Silver " 

Silence again — silence — and then a low whine 
near at hand, followed by a faint bark. 

The river went on indifferently, with its loud 
tumult, the trees lashed their boughs in redoubled 
fury. In a moment Hamnet was at the dog's 
side, his face on the slender muzzle. Silver put 
out his tongue and attempted to lick the bruised 
cheek. 

" Thou hVst," the boy cried between his sobs, 
" thou liv'st " 



CHAPTER XIX 

The miserable have no other medicine, 
But only hope. 

Measure for Measure. 

Do you not know I am a woman ? when I think I must speak. 

As You Like It. 

JUDITH raised the latch of Mistress Hatha- 
way's cottage-door and slipped quickly into 
the house, letting the door slam to back 
of her with such force that all the casements rat- 
tled as violently as if the North wind had de- 
scended upon them in its fury. 

" Grandam," she shouted, " Grandam." 
She paused for a moment to listen. There was 
no one in the living-room, but from the buttery 
beyond there came the sound of voices, and thither 
she directed her steps, calling as she ran. 

" Oh ! ay, ay," her grandmother replied, testily, 
being in a peevish humour that morning, "an 
thou'dst give a body time to speak I'd answer 
thee. La, I do detest, thou'rt more unmannerly 
than any boy, 'tis a mercy an my door be left on 's 
hinge. But come thou hither, thy face is steam- 
ing like a yule-tide pudding and as tarnation as 

285 



286 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

Neighbour Stringer's nose. When wilt give o'er 
thy madcap behaviours?" 

" In truth I did but run the whole way hither, 
for that I must," the little lass said, breathlessly, 
" there be sore coil at home." 

" Nay then I respected it — I respected it," Mis- 
tress Hathaway interrupted, with a triumphant 
ring in her voice, " my left eye itched all morn, 
and that thou know'st bodeth weeping, and yes- 
treen, toward sunset or belike a little later, as we 
were i' the garden a magpie came flying toward 
us. There was but the one, though I looked and 
looked for another ; and quoth Gillian, ' There be 
sorrow comin',' and I said, ' Ay, 'tis on the way, 
but, Tilly-vally, we be all immoral, so there should 
be no lamentations. 'Tis as the Lord reposeth ! ' 
But thy grandfather now — La ! he was a good- 
ly man, though full o' confirmities, and so he's 
gone " 

" Naught aileth my grandfather," Judith cried, 
" 'tis Hamnet that is sick." 

"How! Hamnet? Nay, why saidst thou not 
that sooner? Why didst keep me in dispense? 
A good lad and a senseless, too, and like his 
father! Sick, saidst thou ? Now what of? Thou'st 
put me into such tirrits and frights wi' thy news. 
Come, out wi' it ! Feel, Gillian, how I shake an 
'twere a very aspen leaf." 

" Od's heartlings that do 'ee, Missis." 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 287 

" Ay, that I do like a whole forest full o' leaves 
when the wind is up. Thou must tell thy grandam 
and the rest at home, Jude, how I was infected 
at the mere suspicion o' the news. I've a tender 
heart, but there ! canst not say what aileth the 
lad ? Looketh he palely, doth his pulsidges beat 
extraordinarily, hath he lost his appetite incon- 
tinently ? Hast no tongue that thou canst not use 
it ? Hamnet sick ! Hamnet, my little, doting lad ! 
Oh! lackaday, lackaday, we've fallen on parlous 
times. But dry thine eyes, Gillian wench, and 
leave off weeping, mouse. Oh ! he's dead — he's 
dead. O' Sunday night there was a winding 
sheet i' the candle — nay then, Gillian, thou wast 
by and saw it." 

" E'en so, Missis, e'en so, an' thou saidst to 
I " 

" But Hamnet is not dead," Judith protested. 
" Ye be cruel to say so. He's only sick, and my 
Grandam Shakespeare saith he will get well." 

" We be i' the hands o' the Lord," Mistress 
Hathaway returned piously, taking down her 
apron from her eyes and shaking her head from 
side to side, " 'tis for Him to prohibit ! 'Twere 
well and more christian-like for Mistress Shake- 
speare to be more hopeless now, and have faith 
i' Him. A winding sheet i' the candle, a single 
magpie, my itching eye — nay, they mean no good 
thing. The lad's past cure — that's the incertainty 



288 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

o' it! And 'twere good to bring that home to them 
that think they know more than the Lord above." 

"Alack! Grandam, I came hither for thee to 
help us, and thou frightest me so I must e'en go 
back." 

" Shame upon thee now for that word ! I'd not 
fright a living soul — 'tis thou hast frighted me 
wi' thy delays. Thou'st not told me yet what 
hath befell the lad — but I must e'en be patient. 
Am I not his grandam as well as Mistress Shake- 
speare ? And yet, she knoweth, marry, whether 
he hath caught the inspection, and if the Lord's 
tokens be on him, or if he hath a 'tidian fever. 
Speak, lass. Canst not tell a straight story in 
few words and truly?" 

" Oh ! Grandam, an thou'dst only hearken " 

" Nay, Gillian, I do detest, leave off that clatter 
wi' thy pans and sit thee down and, mouse, come 
a little nearer this ways and so begin." 

Judith came close to her grandmother's side. 

" Thou knowest when we were here last Satur- 
day how we watched for Hamnet," she began, 
speaking very rapidly for fear of interruption, 
"though he had not promised, sure, that he would 
come, only belike. And then, for that it grew so 
dark, we hastened home — Mother, Sue and me — 
running most o' the way, but the rain came pelting 
down before ever we reached Henley Street, and 
there was no one within the house when we got 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 289 

there save only Cicely e'en at her work — she was 
just back from her holiday. But Hamnet was 
nowhere within call, and he came not home that 
night. My grandfather and grandmother were 
away too, and mother said that belike they'd 
stayed the night at Uncle Henry's on account o' 
the storm, and they would come back in the 
morning, and 'twas even as she said. At first 
that night she was sore perplexed about Hamnet, 
and then she thought he'd e'en gone to Shottery 
— as he'd half said he would, and somehow we'd 
missed him, for he's a fashion o' going through 
the thickets after blooms — and that when he came 
here thou'dst not let him away." 

" Ay, I warrant me, I'd not have let him budge. 
He was ever an indelicate child and a weakly, 
and I'd have kept him housed willy-nilly. Thy 
mother should have known that an she had any 
wit. Nay, sirrah, I'd have said, thou'lt not forth 
this even, thou'lt stay here while the rain lasteth 
an 'tis the flood come again. And what wi' pos- 
sets and kickshaws I'd ha' made the time pass 
tediously enow withal — he'd not exchanged it an 
he could. But he came not hither, and that's the 
long and short o' it." 

" Ay, truly, we know that now ; only then, just 

to think o' his being here out o' the wind and 

wet — for 'twas a grievous storm — made the house 

pleasant to us again and we could e'en sleep sweet, 

19 



290 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

but — " Judith's voice broke and she went on with 
a sob, " but in the morning betimes, before ever the 
bidding-bell had sounded or we were ready for 
church, he came creeping home. Oh ! thou'dst 
scarce have known him, his face was so white and 
little, and all drawn wi' pain, and his clothes were 
torn and wet and he had no shirt on's poor back. 
At first methought 'twas some beggar lad — I was 
e'en spying forth to see if Hamnet would come — 
but when he got closer I saw who it was, and out 
I ran. 'Twas raining some, but softly, too, and 
when I came up to him I saw that he was half 
bearing Silver and half leading him, and quoth 
he: 

" ' Cheerly, true heart, cheerly now, here's Jude 
come to meet thee.' 

" At that I cried out : 

" ' Nay, what hath befallen thee, sweet brother, 
thou'rt sore hurt ? ' for I could see his arms were 
all cut and bleeding. 

" And he saith : 

" ' 'Tis little matter about my hurts, they're 
naught, 'tis only my true Silver here that suffer- 
eth. Help me to bear him better, but gently — 
gently. So, dear heart, so, we'll not pain thee — 
we be home at last.' 

"And there we were, and all the others came 
crowding to the door to meet us, but Hamnet had 
no word to say about himself. When we put Sil- 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 291 

ver down upon the floor he needs must tend the 
wound, and Grandam Shakespeare, seeing how 
he felt, to humour him did say she'd e'en wash it 
wi' her own hands, and lay salve upon it, if only 
he would get off his wet clothes and go to bed. 
But he answered and said : 

" ' I cry thee pardon, sweet Grandam, I must 
e'en see to the wound myself ; 'twas had for my 
sake, and Silver, thou know'st, is my very own. 
Cross me not i' this thing and thou may'st do wi' 
me as thou wilt.' 

" Then he undid the wrappings that were made 
from his own shirt, torn small, and showed us all 
a grievous cut on Silver's shoulder, and he bathed 
it so careful that Silver did not even wince. And 
when 'twas all made fair, Ham net turned him to 
my grandam and gave her thanks." 

" Now a weak woman and a fond ! An I'd 
been there I trow no dog should ha' been served 
before 's master. Mistress Shakespeare hath a 
soft heart, though verily an thou 'dst thwart her 
she can be firm enow. And she liketh her own 
way — as 'tis ever the case wi' such gentle-spoken 
women — and hath it oft, I warrant me. Well, 
there's nobody but hath faults, but there ! let that 
pass. Tell me more o' Hamnet ; did they rub 
him and give him a hot posset ? " 

" Yea, that they did. They put him in my 
mother's bed, and oh ! thou canst not think how 



292 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

bruised and sore his poor body was. My mother 
and my grandam were weeping at the sight." 

" How came it so — did the lad fall? " 

" Nay, nay, 'twas like this. That Saturday af- 
ternoon he and Silver had gone out Charlecote 
way and had rested them by the river in such a 
lonesome place, it maketh me all shivery just to 
go by it in the sunshine, for 'tis ever so dark and 
quiet there. Hamnet had a letter from my father, 
which good Master Page had brought from Ox- 
ford, where my father had given it to his keep- 
ing, and whiles my sweet brother was e'en read- 
ing o' it, a cruel, big boy set upon him from be- 
hind, beating him and wounding Silver full sore. 
Then, when he had done his wicked will, he went 
away and for a long time Hamnet knew naught — 
'twas as if he were asleep." 

" Ah, poor heart ! Now a swound — afore heav- 
en, a swound ! " 

" Ay, so my mother saith. When he woke 
why he needs must find Silver, but 'twas so dark 
he could scarce see 's hand before 's face, for 
the rain had come on, so he called, and then Sil- 
ver made answer, but faintly, too. Whereupon 
Hamnet crept him to the poor beast and tended 
him as best he could and helped him to his feet, 
but Silver could not step, the pain was grievous 
bad and he was weak, too, for that his wound had 
bled so much. Then my sweet boy took him in 's 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 293 

arms and bore him — nay, thou knowest how big 
the dog is — a little way deeper into the thicket, 
and there they lay them down together, sheltered 
from the storm. Hamnet would not leave him, 
so they waited all through the night for the morn- 
ing, and then came they home — but slowly — very 
slowly." 

" Now, a piteous tale — a passing piteous tale ! 
Oh, my poor lad ! And all night say'st thou — and 
Saturday night ? Nay, 'twas a naughty night ! 
Well do I remember how I said to Gillian, as we 
hearkened to the drip-drip o' the rain and the roar- 
ing o' the wind ; ' There be wild work abroad 
and I'd not let my dearest foe stay wi'out for a 
king's transom.' And my little lad was all that 
while i' the woods wi' the wild beasts. Nav, I 
could have found it in my heart to give them 
shelter, too, though peradventure 'twould ha' 
been a sensible thing to do, for they might 
ha' turned and rended me. But my pretty boy — 
alack ! he hath caught his death. Now, what 
'cullion was't that handled him so respitefully ? 
'Twere best the Master Bailiff were told that he 
might comprehend the caitiff wretch. How is he 
called ? " 

" 'Twas Diccon Hobday," Judith answered, 
" but think not Hamnet told o' 's own free will. 
When my mother and grandam did question him 
he said : ' Let be, methinks Silver will mend and 



294 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

so let be. As for this threshing, why I care not 
— thou see'st I'd broke my word — nay, seek not 
to know, I'll not tell his name.' So he would say, 
but afterwards when he had gone to sleep, why 
then — the queerest thing ! — he began to thresh 
about with 's arms and talked so strange. Now, 
'twas o' Ned, now 'twas Diccon, and anon he'd 
call father, and pray him not to look sorrowfully. 
Once he started up in bed, and cried: ' Diccon 
Hobday, thou shalt not touch my dog, beat me 
an thou wilt, but spare him.' So then we knew, 
and my grandfather was exceeding wroth, and he 
went out wi' a big stick in 's hand, but it came 
to naught — Diccon Hobday was nowhere to be 
found. 

" And all the while my mother and grandam 
sat above wi' Hamnet, and anon he fell into a 
deep sleep. They would not let me in that day, 
but the next morn I peeped in the room, and — 
nay, I never saw Hamnet fairer — his cheeks were 
as red as any rose, and his eyes so bright — verily 
they were like the stars. But though they looked 
at me, 'twas as if they did not see me. So I just 
stopped without and watched. My grandam was 
there at the side o' the bed, and ever and anon 
she'd sop his face wi' some cool, sweet-smelling 
water " 

" Ay, ay, of course, the woman hath some in- 
ward touch o' sense! Belike 'twas a diffusion o' 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 295 

chamomile flowers, for that is good to wash the 
head and comfort the brain." 

" I wot not truly, but soon he went off to sleep, 
and when he waked again, though his cheeks 
were still red, his eyes had a different look and 
he smiled into grandam's face, and tried to sit up, 
but he could not, so then, all of a sudden, he fell 
a-weeping. 

" And grandam said : 

" ' Nay, sweet, rest thee awhile, 'twill all come 
right. Where doth it hurt thee, sweet ? ' 

" And he made answer, though slowly too : 

" ' 'Tis but a little pain, I mind it no more than 
a bee's sting, but yet it yearneth me that I cannot 
go to Silver. His case is worser than mine, for I 

can speak, whiles he ' whereupon he did sob 

and sob. 

" Then my grandam went to the stair head 
and called down a few words to my grandfather, 
and in another moment — what think'st thou? 
He came up the stairs bearing Silver in's arms. 
And when he got to the room he set him on 
the floor gently, and Silver walked in — but oh, 
so lame — over to the bed, whereat Hamnet 
was much pleased, for all that he was crying. 
Then did my grandfather kneel him down and 
unbind Silver's shoulder and lay fresh ointment 
upon it. I know what 'twas — 'twas compounded 
o' hyssop." 



296 Will Shakespeare's Little Lad 

" Now I praise heaven the Shakespeares have 
some inception o' the virtue o' herbs." 

"And Hamnet looked on, smiling and saying 
softly all the while : 

" ' Good Silver, take heart, lad/ 

" Was not my grandfather passing kind? And 
after that, not once but many times did he tend 
Silver and bring him food to eat withal. Oh! 
'twas a brave physic and worked like a very 
charm — thou wouldst not guess, but now Silver 
can go by himself, though it be only to crawl, and 

he is ever in the room wi' Hamnet, still " the 

young voice broke with a deep sob. The next 
moment the child went on. 

" Still Hamnet groweth no better and I marvel 
why. He just lieth there weak and smiling, and 
when we ask him how he doth, he ever answers : 
" * Why, well and happy, only a little tired.' He 
hath not much to say, and he e'en keepeth my 
father's letter close in's hand. Yesterday — that's 
Wednesday — he had not mended and his cheeks 
were still so red, and toward sundown his eyes 
took on that bright shining, and then, all through 
the night he talked and muttered. Nay, we knew 
not what he meant — over and over again he would 
say : ' A Shakespeare hath never broke his word ! 
I'll not be the first to do it — ' and then he'd cry : 
" London — Father — London — Father — ' So this 
morn, ere the sun's uprising, my grandfather hied 







" He just lieth there weak and smiling." 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 297 

him to the Swan to give a message to some trav- 
eller to London to take to my father there — 'twas 
one my grandam had writ, wherein she said how 
sick Hamnet was, and bade my father to come." 

" Marry, will he do it ? " 

" Ay, verily, he'd go through fire and water for 
Hamnet's sake. But, oh ! 'twill be so long before 
he will be here. Sue saith 'twill be four days be- 
fore ever the letter reacheth him, and then four 
other days " 

" Nay, then, he will not come." 

" Thou dost not know my father ; he'll ride his 
fleetest, I warrant me. But Grandam, wilt help 
me to make Hamnet well before he cometh? 
'Twill pleasure him so. Susanna is with my mother 
and grandam all the day waiting on them, but 
there is so little I can do. This morn I ran hither 
to tell thee all — nay I said not a word to any one 
— and see! I've brought my bit o' coral along — 
the same I had when that I was a tiny babe, and 
I would e'en powder it fine for a potion for Ham- 
net." 

" A potion ? Buz! Thou'rt a green girl." 

" I pray thee flout me not, they take it for 
physic at Court, and prize it highest there. 'Tis 
the very truth, my father told me so. 'Twas Sir 
Walter Raleigh that brought it back from the 
new world " 

" Now, Raleigh me no Raleighs ! Let them 



298 Will Shakespeare' s Little Lad 

keep such perditious stuffs to themselves, I've 
better cure-alls here. There's burnet, now, and 
loveage and setewall for the inwards, and hore- 
hound for bruises, and there's marjoram to com- 
fort both the outside and the in. Belike thy 
grandam hath not thought on them. I've many 
other simples confounded here ; thou wert wise 
to come for, peradventure, I can save the lad 
— though we be i' the Lord's hands after all, 
and there was that sign i' the candle ! I'll set 
forth wi' thee even now. But first go thou 
into the garden, Gillian, and gather me some 
house-leek. Thou 'dst never think, mouse, what 
good can come from its bruised leaves! When 
'tis bound on the forehead 'twill ease the dis- 
temperate heat o' the brain in frenzies. And 
thou may'st get down a bottle o' cowslip wine, 
too — 'tis a good wine and marvellous searching 
withal. An Hamnet cannot take it, thy grand- 
father can. Now, I pray heaven we be not too 
late. Such a child as never was i' this world be- 
fore — I'll never see his like again — as merry as a 
critic and so gentle and true and full o' wit 
withal. And come to this! Nay, 'tis the old 
should go first, we that be old and o' little use, 
but the young — out upon these tears! Lend me 
thy shoulder, child, and bear wi' me. I be very 
old and foolish, and the little lad is wrapped 
round my heart — close — close." 



CHAPTER XX 

Grief fills the room up of my absent child, 
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, 
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, 
Remembers me of all his gracious parts, 
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form. 

King John. 

ACROSS the grassy valley of the Stour, 
stretching away to the south, past Ship- 
ston, ran the London road. A goodly 
road in truth. One that happy hearts had trav- 
elled and would travel — now God willing — many 
and many a time. And one, again, that heavy 
hearts had measured and would measure — now 
God have pity — beyond all numbering. Laugh- 
ter and tears — sunshine and shade — pleasure and 
pain — the very epitome of living ! A highway 
glowing with fair fortune and bright hopes — a 
highway sombre with dire distress and grievous 
heart-break, and still above it curved the same 
sky, or blue, or grey, and underneath its dome 
the little tale of life went on. 

Out of the south, in the chill of an August 
dawn, a horseman spurred hotly over that same 

299 



300 Will Shakespeare' s Little Lad 

thoroughfare, his face set and tense, his clothes 
white with the dust of travel. As he journeyed 
on, with his steady gaze fixed ever before him, he 
had no least glance to bestow upon the growing 
fairness of his surroundings. In vain for him did 
the morning mists reel before the sun in great, 
golden spirals, shot with rose, that chased the dark 
clouds into the west and opened up a pathway 
for the royal progress. In vain did the distant 
hills catch a touch of glory upon their filmy 
crests. In vain did the rippling Stour flash, sil- 
ver-like, in the clearer light, and the Avon, flowing 
down to the Severn and the sea, held all in vain 
some of the day's brightness in its placid waters. 
In vain did the lark soar high into the heavens, 
singing its song at the very gates. Nor sun, nor 
shining hill, nor sparkling stream, nor glittering 
blade and leaf, nor singing bird had aught to say 
to the man pressing ever forward. 

But, at last, when he had come within sight of 
the old stone bridge, with its causeway supported 
on arches above the swampy meads, he halted to 
breathe his horse and glanced at the slow-flowing 
river as at a familiar friend, and at the little town, 
just waking from its slumbers, on the opposite 
shore, where the spire of Trinity rose from its 
bower of trees. He drew a deep sigh of relief. 
With Stratford there in front of him hope leaped 
again in his breast and thrust back with a mighty 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 301 

lance all those grim thoughts of apprehension 
and sadness that had made every mile of his 
terrible journey seem a score in its slow unfold- 
ing. And thus thrilled he could see with clearer 
eyes. 

The horse snuifed the freshening river breeze 
with eager nostrils, seeming to gain new vigour 
with each inhalation, while the rider, in his turn, 
felt a sudden sense of peace descend upon him as 
if some of the tranquillity and beauty of the young 
day had crept into his tormented soul. Nay, all 
was well of a surety, he told himself, for the night 
was past. He bent and patted the steed with an 
encouraging touch as he set him once more in 
motion and went dashing over the long, grey 
bridge, the flying hoofs breaking the sleeping 
stillness all around. 

Old Raven, with his broom and shovel borne 
aloft upon his shoulder, came scrambling up the 
causeway from the Stratford side with what haste 
he could muster. It was early yet for work, but 
at almost any time, now, travellers might be start- 
ing forth on their journey Londonward, and it 
behooved him to speed their departure with a 
civility which often received its proper recom- 
pense in coin of the realm, though oftenest only in 
words of cheer — sorry substitutes, to the cleaner's 
way of thinking. With his lynx-like eyes he had 
noted from afar the tiny cloud of dust spreading 



302 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

along his special province which heralded the 
coming of a horseman, and his old heart beat tri- 
umphantly as panting, but still in time, he took 
up his position a little at one side, in an attitude 
of arrested industry. And yet, notwithstanding 
his seductive phrases of welcome, he might have 
been a part of the stone guard-wall which testi- 
fied to Sir Hugh's public spirit for all the notice 
that was taken of him and- his outstretched hand. 

" Now, by 'r la' kin it be Wully Shaxper," he 
exclaimed in dismay, " an' a had nowt for I." He 
cast an anxious glance in the direction of the 
vanishing rider, to make sure that he was not 
dreaming. " Ay, it be Wully," he continued, in 
utter mystification, " but what be corned to he ? 
Summat's happed as sure as shinin' — it be the fust 
time a ever passed I by loike that." 

Meanwhile Will Shakespeare, bending low to 
his saddle bows and urging his good horse for- 
ward, turned into Back Bridge Street. Early as 
it was, some shopmen were at their stalls in Mid- 
dle Row, getting ready for what business the day 
might bring, setting forth their wares or casting 
up the tallies which they had chalked upon their 
wooden shutters or doors on the yesterday. Sev- 
eral of them turned in stupid wonderment at 
sight of the flying figure, then, as stolidly, they 
turned again to the petty affairs in hand, their 
minds as unruffled by the unexpected passing as 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 303 

a stagnant pool, sleeping beneath its coverlid of 
green, is disturbed by the flight of a bird far 
above. 

There were other signs of life abroad ; two or 
three garrulous house-wives were sauntering 
slowly toward the public pump, a little goose-girl 
loitered along at one side, singing lustily and pay- 
ing scant heed to her waddling charges, and sev- 
eral workmen, with their mattocks across their 
shoulders, were dawdling to their tasks in the 
near-lying fields. There was no thought of hurry 
or worry anywhere this fresh, bright morning, 
save in the breast of the traveller from far-away 
London town. 

He turned into Henley Street and there, before 
him, was the home he loved. Smoke from the 
chimney — thank God ! An open casement — thank 
God ! — and someone already stirring in the gar- 
den. Someone, perhaps, who had been up all 
night in a sick-room and had come out among the 
growing things to breathe in the sweet, soft air, or 
belike — since all was well — to gather a handful 
of lettuce leaves for the morning's meal. He 
reined in his horse, smiling a little to himself. 
He must wait for his foolish heart to stop its tu- 
multuous beating — his anxiety had made a very 
woman of him. And so, halting, he glanced 
around with eager eyes. 

How fair it was ! How trim Master Lane's 



304 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

hedge looked, and what a fine showing his garden 
made ! There was the Quineys' house close by, 
and this was Master George Badger's, while just 
around in Henley Lane rose the tall elms that 
shaded the dwelling-place of good Nicholas Page 
— now Heaven bless him a thousand thousand 
times ! Back came Will Shakespeare's roving eyes 
to his own home garden ; he urged his tired horse 
a step nearer. Nay, he'd make sure who it was 
abroad there betimes — Mother, Wife, the little 
girls, or the kitchen wench. What was that low- 
stooping figure doing there by the garden wall ? 
Not smelling the flowers — not picking lettuce 
—not—Oh, God ! Oh, God ! 

He stared straight before him — all the blood 
gone from his face — at that swift, darting shape 
bending down by the straw-bound hives along the 
wall, bending down with the fluttering shred of 
black in her hands, and whispering something to 
the quiet inmates within. It was Cicely telling 
the bees. 

And still he sat there staring before him, dumb, 
helpless, chilled to the marrow, but not sightless. 
He could still see the garden and that stooping 
form, the softly waving trees, the nodding flowers 
so dazzlingly gay, and beyond them the house — 
home ! — where the smoke curled from the chimney 
and where all the windows — not one alone — and 
the doors were flung wide. A red-breast flashed 



Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 305 

for a moment in the sun — a vivid rush of scarlet 
— as it darted across to Nicholas Lane's hedge, 
with its twittering note, and from somewhere in 
the near distance there came the sound of a 
school-boy's happy call. 

Then, on a sudden, it was very dark. A great 
blindness fell upon the watcher ; he could see 
naught in the confused blur of earth and sky. The 
pleasant landscape held no faintest hint of beauty 
or peace, though the sun — which is the saddest 
thing in all this world — went on with its cruel 
shining. 

The family had gathered in the living-room — 
all there together save one — and the air was heavy 
with the sound of weeping. Will Shakespeare 
paused for a moment, trembling on the thresh- 
old. 

" I — I — tarried not," he said, brokenly, " but — I 
— come — too — late. Nay, stay me not now." 

He put them by with a hasty hand, he did not 
even seem to see them as he crossed the room 
with his white, hopeless face thrown back, and 
his dry eyes staring fixedly before him. 

They listened to his slow steps creeping up the 

creaking staircase, as if some heavy weight had 

been laid upon him which made it impossible for 

him to climb faster. When he had reached the 

top there was a momentary pause — for strength 

— for courage — who could say ? then those drag- 
20 



306 Will Shakespeare s Little Lad 

ging foot-falls went across the entry, and then 
there was the closing of a door. 

And still listening, they heard poor, maimed 
Silver crawl slowly up, in his turn — step by step 
—and fling himself upon the floor outside of that 
closed door, with a low moan of grief. 



Charles Scribner's Sons' 

New and Standard Books for 
Young Readers for 1897=98 . . . 



MRS. BURNETT'S 
FAMOUS JUVENILES 

An entirely new edition of Mrs. Burnett's famous 
juveniles from new plates, with all the original 
illustrations. Bound in a beautiful new cloth bind- 
ing designed by R. B. Birch, and sold at very much 
reduced prices. 

LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY 

TWO LITTLE PILGRIMS' PROGRESS 

SARA CREWE and LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH AND 

OTHER STORIES (in one vol.) 
PICCINO AND OTHER CHILD STORIES 
GIOVANNI AND THE OTHER 

Five Volumes, 12 mo, each, $1*25 

The original editions can still be supplied at the former prices : 

LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY. Beautifully illustrated by Reginald B. Birch. 
Square 8vo, $2.00. 

TWO LITTLE PILGRIMS' PROGRESS. A Story of the City Beautiful. 
By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. Illustrated by Reginald B. Birch. 
Uniform with " Fauntleroy," etc. Square 8vo, $1.50. 

SARA CREWE ; or, What Happened at Miss Minchin's. Richly and fully 
illustrated by Reginald B. Birch. Square 8vo, $1.00. 

LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH, and Other Stories. With 12 full-page draw- 
ings by Reginald B. Birch. Square 8vo, $1.50. 

GIOVANNI AND THE OTHER: Children who have made Stories. With 
9 full-page illustrations by Reginald B. Birch. Square 8vo, $1.50. 

PICCINO, and other Child Stories. Fully illustrated by Reginald B. Birch. 
Square 8vo, $1.50. 



SCRIBNE^S 'BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG 

G. A. HENTY'S POPULAR STORIES 
FOR BOYS 

New Volumes for 1897-98. Each, crown 8vo, handsomely illustrated, $1.50. 

Mr. Henty, the most popular writer of Books of Ad- 
venture in England, adds three new volumes to his 
list this fall — books that will delight thousands of 
boys on this side who have become his ardent admirers 



WITH FREDERICK THE GREAT. A Tale of the Seven Years' War. With 
12 full-page illustrations. 121110, $1.50. 

This story, more than any other of Mr. Henty's, follows closely the historic lines, 
and no better description of the memorable battles of Rossbach, Leuthen, Prague, 
Zorndorf, Hochkirch, and Torgau can be found anywhere than is given in this 
volume. Through the historic part there runs the record of the daring and 
hazardous adventures of the hero, so that the charm of romance is given to the 
whole narrative. It is one of the most important volumes Mr. Henty has written. 



A MARCH ON LONDON. A Story of Wat Tyler's Rising. With 8 full-page 
illustrations by W. H. Margetson. i2mo, $1.50. 

This book weaves together, in a most interesting way, the story of Wat Tyler's 
rebellion under King Richard, the civil war in Flanders which occurred soon 
after, and the ill-planned attack upon the French led by the Bishop of Norfolk. 
The whole story is singularly interesting, covering as it does a period of history 
which is but little known and which is well worth narrating. 



WITH MOORE AT CORUNNA. A Story of the Peninsular War. With 12 
full-page illustrations by Wal. Paget. 12010, $1.50. 

A bright Irish lad, Terence O'Connor.'is living with his widowed father, Captain 
O'Connor of the Mayo Fusiliers, with the regiment, at the time when the Penin- 
sular War against Napoleon began. Under the command of Sir John Moore, he 
shared in the same marching and sharp fighting which that expedition experi- 
enced up to the battle of Corunna. By his bravery and great usefulness, in spite 
of his youth, he received a commission as colonel in the Portuguese army, and 
during the remainder of the war rendered great services, being mentioned twice 
in the general orders of the Duke of Wellington. The whole story is full of ex- 
citing military experiences and gives a most careful and accurate account of the 
conduct of the campaigns. 



SCRIBNE^S "BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG 



MR. HENTY'S OTHER BOOKS 

Each volume with numerous illustrations ; handsomely bound. Olivine edges. 
i2mo. $1.50. 

" Mr. Henty's books never fail to interest boy readers. Among writers of stories 
of adventure he stands in the very first rank." — Academy, London. 

" No country nor epoch of history is there which Mr. Henty does not know, and 
what is really remarkable is that he always writes well and interestingly. Boys 
like stirring adventures, and Mr. Henty is a master of this method of composi- 
tion." — New York Times, 

AT AGINCOURT. A Tale of the White Hoods of Paris. With 12 full-page 
illustrations by Wal. Paget. 

COCHRANE THE DAUNTLESS. A Tale of the Exploits of Lord Coch- 
rane in South American Waters. With 12 full-page illustrations by W. H. 
Margetson. 

ON THE IRRAWADDY. A Story of the First Burmese War. With 8 full- 
page illustrations by W. H. Overend. 

THROUGH RUSSIAN SNOWS. A Story of Napoleon's Retreat from 
Moscow. With 8 full-page illustrations by W. H. Overend. 

A KNIGHT OP THE WHITE CROSS. A Tale of the Siege of Rhodes. 
With 12 full-page illustrations by Ralph Peacock. 

THE TIGER OF MYSORE. A Story of the War with Tippoo Said. With 
12 full-page illustrations by W. H. Margetson. 

IN THE HEART OF THE ROCKIES. A Story of Adventure in Colorado. 

WHEN LONDON BURNED. A Story of Restoration Times and the Great 

Fire. 

WULF THE SAXON. A Story of The Norman Conquest. 

ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S EVE. A Tale of the Huguenot Wars. 

THROUGH THE SIKH WAR. A Tale of the Conquest of the Punjaub. 

A JACOBITE EXILE. Being the Adventures of a Young Englishman in 
the Service of Charles XII. of Sweden. 

CONDEMNED AS A NIHILIST. A Story of Escape from Siberia. 

BERIC THE BRITON. A Story of the Roman Invasion. 

IN GREEK WATERS. A Story of the Grecian War of Independence 

[1821-1827]. 

THE DASH FOR KHARTOUM. A Tale of the Nile Expedition. 
REDSKIN AND COWBOY. A Tale of the Western Plains. 
HELD FAST FOR ENGLAND. A Tale of the Siege of Gibraltar. 



SCRIBNE^S "BOOK FOR THE YOUNG 



SOME OF THE NEWEST BOOKS 

WILL SHAKESPEARE'S LITTLE LAD. By Imogen Clark. With illustra- 
tions and cover design by R. B. Birch. i2mo, $1.50. 

A story, full of warm color and brisk movement, of Stratford life in Shakespeare's 
day, the local atmosphere being reflected with rare fidelity, and the hero, the 
poet's son, being drawn with sympathy and charm. 



CHILD POEMS. By Eugene Field. With an introduction by Kenneth 
Grahame and profusely illustrated by Charles Robinson. Uniform with Robert 
Louis Stevenson's " Child's Garden of Verses," also illustrated by Charles Robin- 
son. i2mo, $1.50. 



THE STEVENSON SONG BOOK. Verses from "A Child's Garden," by 
Robert Louis Stevenson. With music by various composers. A companion 
volume to the Field-DeKoven song book printed last year. Large 8vo, $2.00. 



AN OLD-FIELD SCHOOL GIRL. By Marion Harland. With 8 full-page 
illustrations. i2mo, $1.25. 



LORDS OF THE WORLD. By Alfred J. Church. A Story of the Fall of 
Carthage and Corinth. With 12 full-page illustrations by Ralph Peacock. 
i2mo, $1.50. 

The scene of this story centres in the overthrow and destruction of Carthage by 
the Romans. The story is full of valuable historical details and the interest never 
flags. 

HEROES OF OUR NAVY. By Molly Elliot Seawell. Illustrated. i2tno. 

In press. 

Never has this entertaining writer been more felicitous than in the present 

volume. 

THE LAST CRUISE OF THE MOHAWK. By W. J. Henderson. Illustrated 
by Harry Edwards. i2mo, $1.25. 

The book is crowded with dramatic incident — mutiny, shipwreck, Farragut's 
great fight in Mobile Bay — and the narrative is as simple as the events and 
characters are entertaining. 



SCRIBNE^S 'BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG 

KIRK MUNROE'S STIRRING TALES 
THE WHITE CONQUEROR SERIES 

WITH CROCKETT AND BOWIE AT WAR WITH PONTIAC 

THE WHITE CONQUERORS THROUGH SWAMP AND GLADE 

Each, illustrated, 121110, $1.25. The complete set, 4 vols., in a box, $5.00. 

JUST PUBLISHED 

WITH CROCKETT AND BOWIE ; or, Fighting for the Lone Star Flag. 
A Tale of Texas. With 8 full-page illustrations by Victor Perard. 

The story is of the Texas revolution in 1835, when American Texans under Sam 
Houston, Bowie, Crockett, and Travis, fought for relief from the intolerable 
tyranny of the Mexican Santa Ana. The hero, Rex Hardin, son of a Texas ranch- 
man, and graduate of an American military school, takes a prominent part in the 
heroic defense of the Alamo, the terrible scenes at Golead, and the final triumph 
at San Jacinto. The historical side of the story has been carefully studied and its 
localities rendered familiar by a special trip to Texas undertaken by the author 
for that purpose within a year. 

PREVIOUS VOLUMES 

THROUGH SWAMP AND GLADE. A Tale of the Seminole War. With 8 
full-page illustrations by Victor Perard. i2mo, $1.25. 

In this new story Mr. Munroe opens to view an exceedingly interesting period of 
American history — the period of the Seminole War in Florida. Coacoochee, the 
hero of the story, is a young Indian of noble birth, the son of Philip, the chieftain 
of the Seminoles. He is a boy at the time of the beginning of the Seminole 
troubles and grows up to lead his tribe in the long struggle which resulted in the 
Indians being driven from the north of Florida down to the distant southern 
wilderness. It is full of strange adventure, of stirring incident and rapid action, 
and it is a true and faithful picture of a period of history little known to young 
readers. 

AT WAR WITH PONTIAC ; or, The Totem of the Bear. A Tale of Red- 
coat and Redskin. With 8 full-page illustrations by J. Finnemore. i2mo, $1.25. 

A story of old days in America when Detroit was a frontier town and the 
shores of Lake Erie were held by hostile Indians under Pontiac. The hero, 
Donald Hester, goes in search of his sister Edith, who has been captured by the 
Indians. Strange and terrible are his experiences; for he is wounded, taken 
prisoner, condemned to be burned, and contrives to escape. In the end there is 
peace between Pontiac and the English, and all things terminate happily for the 
hero. One dares not skip a page of this enthralling story. 

THE WHITE CONQUERORS. A Tale of Toltec anp Aztec. With 8 full- 
page illustrations by W. S. Stacev. i2tno, $1.25. 

This story deals with the Conquest of Mexico by Cortes and his Spaniards, the 
" White Conquerors," who, after many deeds of valor, pushed their way into the 
great Aztec kingdom and established their power in the wondrous city where 
Montezuma reigned in barbaric splendor. 



SCRIBNE%S "BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG 



BOOKS BY WILLIAM HENRY FROST 

JUST PUBLISHED 

THE KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE. Illustrated and cover designed by 
S. R. Burleigh. i2mo, $1.50. 

Mr. Frost's volumes of folk-lore stories have achieved a deserved popularity, and 
this last one, dealing with the ever-fascinating theme of the Round Table and its 
knights, is equal to either of his earlier books. 

MR. FROST'S FORMER BOORS 

THE COURT OF KINO ARTHUR. Stories from the Land of the Round 

Table. Illustrated by S. R. Burleigh. i2tno, $1.50. 

Mr. Frost has had the happy idea of making a journey to the different places con- 
nected with the Arthurian romances by history or legend, and of relating the ever 
new Round Table Tales on their sites, to the same little girl, now somewhat older, 
to whom he told his charming Wagner stories. 

THE WAGNER STORY BOOK. Firelight Tales of the Great Music 
Dramas. Illustrated by Sidney R. Burleigh. i2mo, $1.50. 

" A successful attempt to make the romantic themes of the music drama intelligi- 
ble to young readers. The author has full command of his subject, and the style 
is easy, graceful, and simple." — Boston Beacon. 



ROBERT GRANT'S TWO BOOKS FOR BOYS 

JACK HALL; or, The School Days of an American Boy. Illustrated by F. 
G. Attwood. i2mo, $1.25. 

" A better book for boys has never been written. It is pure, clean, and healthy, 
and has throughout a vigorous action that holds the reader breathlessly." 

— Boston Herald. 

JACK IN THE BUSH ; or, a Summer on a Salmon River. Illustrated by F. T. 
Merrill. i2mo, $1.25. 

" A clever book for boys. It is the story of the camp life of a lot of boys, and is 
destined to please every boy reader. It is attractively illustrated." 

— Detroit Free Press. 

THE KANTER GIRLS 

By Mary L. B. Branch. Illustrated by Helen M. Armstrong. Square iamo, 

$1.50. 

The adventures of Jane and Prue, two small sisters, among different peoples of 

the imaginative world'— dryads, snow-children, Kobolds, etc. — aided by their 

invisible rings, their magic boat, and their wonderful birds, are described by the 

author with great naturalness and a true gift for story-telling. The numerous 

illustrations are very attractive, and in thorough sympathy with the text. 



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